#duke leto atreides x oc

[molluskwritesfic]

Galatea - Chapter One

Masterlist - Ao3

Summary: A cheap Arrakeen prostitute, chained to the city brothel by an unfair contract and desperate for freedom, is offered the chance of a lifetime.

A/N: Basically unedited. Not my best work. Tryna get out of a writing slump so you get what you get

Chapter Warnings: smut, a smidge of knife play, prostitution, mentions of rape, depression, anxiety

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ ONLY

This part, Galatea was all too familiar with.

The groundcar waiting for her outside the brothel was nondescript. Grey metal and dark windows. The man that opened the door for her wore a black work uniform stripped of insignia. She knew the type. Spine rimrod straight. Eyes front. Trying just a little too hard not to seem like he was ogling the beautiful woman scantily dressed in fine silk.

Galatea shot him a wink. He blushed.

From there, though, things got a bit more complicated.

She slid gracefully onto the fine leather seats, trying not to think about how desperately she wanted tonight to succeed.

Chances of everything happening the way they needed to were exceedingly slim. She knew better than to get her hopes up. She wasn’t a dreamer, but she had been, once. Despite all she’d been through, it was a habit that just wouldn’t die.

Arrakeen was a city of many pains. And many pleasures. The House of Priapos was the largest purveyor of both. Women—and men—for all social classes. The brothel itself took up a city block, with the Trulls crammed into tiny stalls at the bottom, separated from the street by only threadbare curtains; while the wealthy enjoyed High Courtesans tucked away in luxurious penthouses that made up the highest floors.

Galatea operated somewhere in the middle.

Trapped by an unfair contract that she had signed years ago when she had been young and desperate, she could be dressed up as a courtesan, or down as a street whore, and had no room to argue either way.

Tonight, though, was unprecedented.

Galatea was to entertain the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis.

Although her hourly rate was much higher than the average Arrakeen man could afford, compared to the usual girls enjoyed by Imperium Nobility, she was trashy, at best.

It was a fluke, really.

Zoie, a High Courtesan who happened to be Galatea’s close friend, had recently taken the Atreides Warmaster as a client. He had been pleased with her, and after a few sessions, mentioned that the Duke was in need of a new lover, and asked if she had any recommendations.

Zoie owed Galatea quite a lot, and a recommendation whispered in the right ear went a long way.

The Arrakeen Palace was massive. For all the years she’d lived in Arrakis, it had been a looming mountain above the city, little more than an extension of the Shield Wall’s craggy peaks.

Galatea had certainly never been inside, but she knew a few women that had. She shifted nervously in her seat as the groundcar passed though the first security checkpoint at the outer gate, wondering at how they’d never thought to mention that the outer walls were at least fifteen feet thick. Or that armed guards bristled at every corner.

The groundcar skirted the main entrance and rolled to a stop at a smaller door just off of the courtyard, where a female guard waited. After scanning her for concealed weapons, the guard led the way inside.

She was guided on a long, winding route. Down cavernous corridors and up quite a few stairs. They encountered no one. It was planned, certainly. They were hardly going to advertise when a whore was being brought in for the Duke to fuck.

The guard’s footsteps echoed smartly through the silence, while Galatea’s delicate sandals whispered in afterthought. For a few long moments, Galatea could almost believe that they were the only souls in the entire palace. The utilitarian minimalism of the place did nothing to lessen the effect—the sandstone walls were smooth and bare. Like some suspiciously clean tomb lost deep in the desert.

The illusion was shattered when they rounded a final corner and were faced by two more guards. After being checked for weapons a second time. Her escort led her past them and down a hall that looked a bit more lived in. Still spotless, but a few paintings adorned the walls and a long crimson rug ran the length of the floor.

The guard stopped at a fairly nondescript door and turned to face her.

“The groundcar will be waiting for you at dawn,” she explained, her voice as clipped and measured as her gait. “You will be escorted out of the building. Do not wander. If you need to leave early, tell the guards. They will call for the groundcar. Do you understand?”

Galatea saw it now—the disgust hidden behind the guard’s professional mask. It wasn’t the sort of thing that she usually let faze her. People were disgusted by whores until they wanted to use one. But she was already feeling a bit out of her depth, and the blatant distaste turned the whispers in the back of Galatea’s mind into wailing sirens.

There’s a reason they use highborn ladies for this, she thought bitterly as the guard left her alone in the hall. Cheap is cheap and trash is trash.

But then the logic of Zoie—who was decidedly not cheap—rose out of the mix, accompanied by the trademark shrug of her lovely shoulders.

Who the fuck cares? A cock is a cock. Milk him and move on.

Galatea couldn’t argue with that. She lifted her hand and knocked.

The answering voice was low and soft. “Come in.”

The door opened smoothly on well oiled hinges, and Galatea was treated to the view of the room beyond.

The Duke’s suite was large and spacious, framed on one side by shelves laden with books and strange trinkets from his homeworld, and by the thin slip of a very wide but short window that was a standard Arrakis style on the other. The bed was tucked away at the far side of the room—large and neatly made underneath a beautiful bronze mural of a curling sandworm. A few steps from the bed was a doorway—presumably a bathroom—and a short distance from that, the closet. The room also sported a small breakfast table, a chaise lounge with matching chairs, and a writing desk.

The Duke himself sat at the desk, hunched over a stack of papers with a pen in hand. Galatea’s breath hitched in her throat—half from admiration, half from nerves.

Duke Leto Atreides was an extremely handsome man. Olive skin turned golden by the Arrakis sun and heightened under the warm glow of the glowglobes. He had a sharp, angular face softened by curly black hair and a beard to match, both shot through with elegant streaks of silver. Thick, heavy eyebrows sat above the eyes of a poet, pulling his expression into one of constant brooding.

There was no point in trying to pretend that she didn’t find him attractive. Doing nothing to hide the way her eyes flitted appreciatively around his body, Galatea dipped into a polite curtsy and flashed him her most winning smile.

“My Lord.”

He gave her the barest glance, then went back to writing.

“I’ll be with you in a minute. Make yourself comfortable.”

The disinterest gave her pause.

Galatea was not the first woman that had been hired for this job. Although the Courtesans that had come before her had been sworn into silence, Zoie was persistent. Through her usual persuasion tactics and ability to root out gossip from the most stubborn sources, the beautiful Courtesan was able to garner that, out of six High Courtesans, the Duke had sent them all away.

And if they hadn’t been able to please the Duke, what hope did Galatea have?

Well, he hasn’t dismissed me yet.

She turned to one of the bookshelves. Galatea ran her fingers down a few of the leather bound spines and read the titles. Paper books were incredibly rare on Arrakis. There were no trees; wood and paper had to be imported. She had a digital tablet, though. Reading was one of the few hobbies she could afford. There wasn’t much else to do to fill the time between clients, anyhow.

The Duke heaved a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, Galatea watched him set aside his papers and stare off into space. He drummed his fingers on the desk. Lost in thought.

The decision was made. He stood. Strode purposefully around the desk.

“Alright. Come here.”

The command in his tone made Galatea shiver with anticipation. As much as she hated the brothel, the contract, the lack of choice, her masters—this part, especially when she liked the look of the client, could be a lot of fun.

She met him in the middle. The Duke’s arms wrapped around her, dragged her body against his, left no room for argument. Then his mouth was on hers. Hard. Demanding. Tongues and teeth. No preamble. Absolutely filthy.

Fuck, he was a good kisser. Of course he was. A man as beautiful as he was didn’t skate through life without getting a lot of practice.

Galatea’s knees went weak, and she grabbed onto his shoulders to keep upright. The Duke didn’t seem to notice, and instead used her loss of balance to steer her towards the chaise lounge.

Once he had her underneath him, he wasted no time in pulling the straps of her dress down her shoulders, loosening the silk enough to free her breasts. Then that wonderful mouth was on her neck. She gasped as his beard scraped along her collarbone. Eager to match his intensity, Galatea slipped a hand between their bodies to rub his cock through his trousers. She could feel the outline of him through the thick fabric—still soft, but of pleasing size.

Galatea hummed appreciatively. The Duke paused, his breath ghosting past her ear. She threaded her free hand through his hair and pulled him back in for another kiss.

He reciprocated, but something had shifted.

The Duke tolerated a few more moments of her touch, then he heaved a sigh and pulled away. Galatea was left draped on the lounge, tits out and baffled as he returned to his desk.

“Thank you for coming here tonight,” he said, settling back down in his chair and shuffling papers as he returned to his work. “You may go.”

Shocked, Galatea sat up and fixed her clothes. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Cheap whore or not, she knew she was attractive. It was usually the lead up when a client lost interest—when the knowledge of her unfashionable price and breeding was at the forefront. But once a man got his hands on her, he always followed through.

“My Lord… forgive me, but … have I done something wrong?”

He didn’t look at her. “No. You will be paid in full.”

Galatea could have cried. It wasn’t about the money. She saw so little of the money she made for the brothel that it didn’t have much meaning for her anymore, beyond the fact that she was cheap—which her handlers reminded her of at every opportunity. But the Duke was in need of a lover. Leto the Just, they called him. A good and fair man, one that had the authority and money to pay off her contract with the brothel and set her free, if he liked her enough. If he liked her more than enough, he might even bring her into his House. He could make her a concubine. And finally, after so many years, she could have the quiet, stable life that she’d always wanted.

No more beatings. No more scrounging. No more pleasuring the questionable men that the courtesans above her didn’t want. No more falling asleep to moans and screams. No more knowing that there were women several floors below her getting raped and being able to do nothing about it.

She could be free.

It was a pipe dream. She knew that. But having the hope crushed before it could even fully take root was devastating.

From the despair came indignation, and from that came anger. Anger always made her reckless.

She returned to the bookshelf. Figuring that the Duke wouldn’t leave sensitive information just out on a shelf, Galatea decided it was safe to help herself to one that sounded interesting.

This was an opportunity. Good things never happened to Galatea. She had hours left until the brothel expected her back, so she might as well make the most of the Duke’s luxuries.

And if he really wanted her to leave, he could make her.

Galatea settled down on the chaise lounge with her book and began to read.

It was the Duke’s turn to be shocked. He stared at her, heavy eyebrows low with a frown. “What are you doing?”

Galatea shrugged. “You’ve paid for my time already. How we spend it is entirely up to you. And if what you want is something pretty to brighten the room while you work, then that’s fine by me.”

The Duke blinked at that for a few moments. Utterly perplexed. Galatea wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“… As you please.”

They stayed like that for a while. The silence was soothing, full of nothing more than the occasional shuffle of papers and soft breaths. The world within the Arrakeen Palace was so far from the one she knew in the city—too far above for the bustle and chatter of people, groundcars, and animals to reach. Isolated. Alone in a bubble. Close enough to see the lights but too far away to touch.

Galatea wondered if the Duke was lonely.

She wasn’t really sure of the details. Zoie tended to not make a ton of sense when she was excited. Galatea mulled over what had gathered from the younger woman’s babbling.

The Duke’s concubine—his partner of fifteen years and the mother of his only son—had left him. She, along with their son, had gone into the desert to join the Fremen. The rest was speculation, but there seemed to be a consensus that the son, at least, had gone with the Duke’s blessing. The Fremen had been the reason that House Atreides managed to survive those harrowing first few months of their hold on Arrakis.

Galatea shivered at the memory. She remembered the night well. The sounds of roaring engines and lasguns had made the city tremble. Fire had lit the sky as ships rained down over the Shield Wall. The attack had been massive. The kind that no one was meant to survive.

But the Fremen had come out of the desert—Galatea wouldn’t pretend to understand why—and when dawn came, House Atreides still stood.

Loaning his heir out to learn the ways of the Fremen seemed a small price to pay for an alliance.

But it didn’t explain why Lady Jessica had gone as well.

Eventually, Galatea felt the Duke’s eyes on her again. She thought that he was searching for something to say, so she read aloud:

“Discovery is dangerous…but so is life. A man unwilling to take risks is doomed never to learn, never to grow, never to live.”

The Duke nodded. “That’s Pardot Kynes, the former planetologist. Dr. Liet Kynes gifted me a copy of some of her father’s writings.”

“I’ve heard of him, I think. He was supposed to be a very brilliant man.”

“It seems that way, yes.” The Duke leaned back in his chair, a bitter smile twisting at his lips. “Though sometimes I wonder if his experience was incomplete.”

“How do you mean, my Lord?”

“Perhaps one type of danger helps a man to grow. The experience makes him more of a leader. While others do the opposite. Less of a leader… less of a man.”

She tilted her head. Considered him. The faraway look. The grim smile. Tension pulled at his shoulders and exhaustion at his spine. The way he’d clutched at her reminded her of a man taking medicine—the action of doing something despite not really wanting to because it would make him feel better.

Less of a leader… less of a man.

Ah.

That was something she could work with.

The realization gave her direction, and direction gave her confidence. Galatea stood and crossed over to the desk. The Duke tilted his chin to look up at her, holding her gaze as her knees brushed his when she hopped up to sit on the desk.

Galatea cocked her head to the side as she considered him. She’d had this conversation before. Great care was needed. Proud men had the tendency to lash out, and the Duke of Caladan and Arrakis was certainly a proud man.

But at the same time, this was a man that had committed to one woman for over fifteen years. That, especially among Landsraad nobility, was extremely rare. He hadn’t been able to marry his concubine, but had also refused to marry anyone else. Unheard of.

What sort of a man was Leto Atreides?

Galatea was good at reading people. Getting a snap impression of someone, and then being able to act on it, was one of the most important skills a whore could have. Besides sucking cocks, of course, but that was a given.

Fifteen years. A son. Now he was alone. Responsible for far too many things, all of which seemed to be within a hair's breadth of falling apart. Under a great deal of stress.

This was the sort of man that wanted someone else to take control. Be taken care of. Just for a while. Being bossed around for a bit would definitely do him good.

“Leto,” Galatea began, making careful use of his first name, “when’s the last time you slept?”

Whatever he was expecting, that wasn’t it. Leto huffed a laugh. “My duties don’t exactly lend to a regular sleep schedule.”

“So in other words, you’ve been living on anti-fatigue pills?”

He shrugged.

“Leto.” He hadn’t corrected her for using his name, and she took it as a signal that she was allowed to keep doing so. She rolled her eyes and gave a disappointed shake of her head.

The Duke watched her, somehow much more interested than he had been when he’d had his mouth on her tits. She couldn’t be offended, though. The intensity of his undivided attention was far too distracting.

Galatea slipped off her sandals and rested her bare feet on his thighs. Rested her elbows on her knees and her hand on one hand. The action forced him to lean back in his seat, his legs nudged apart by the weight of her.

Leto arched an eyebrow. The look on his face was one Galatea had seen many times—the one that said, I’m in complete control of this situation, and I’m letting you do this because I think it’s amusing.

Galatea tipped her head to indicate his crotch. “And you don’t suspect a connection between the two?”

To his credit, he handled the entirely unsubtle reference to his manhood with more dignity than most refined men Galatea knew. A slight widening of the eyes. The subtle reddening of the ears.

She suppressed a smile.

“I… uh…” He cleared his throat. “I was assured that anti-fatigue pills have no…er… side effects…”

“Oh, Leto honey.” Galatea pressed her hand to his cheek. “Beautiful boy. I’m a whore. You can speak plainly about your cock with me. God knows I handle enough of them.”

Turns out, the direct approach yielded delightful results. Leto sputtered and tried to cover it with a cough. He didn’t really want to look her in the eye, so he lowered his gaze. After a moment, it occurred to him that he was looking at her breasts. His eyes shot back up to her face, then drifted off to the side. His blush deepened, creeping down his neck.

Fuck, he was pretty.

“I…uh… wouldn’t want to burden you.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “That’s not exactly something you talk about with a potential lover.”

“On the contrary, who better to ask? These things happen—it’s normal—and most everyone tries to solve it the same way you did.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” He still wouldn’t look her in the eye, but the blush was fading. Galatea vowed to bring it back as soon as possible. “So it’s the pills?”

“Not exactly, but they certainly don’t help. How much sleep have you gotten in, say…the last two weeks?”

“I don’t know. Twelve? Maybe less.”

Galatea felt a wave of pity. No wonder the poor thing was having problems.

“Consider the mind and the body.” She held out both hands symbolically. “They work together, but they’re separate entities. The mind tells the body what to do, and the body does it. The heart needs to beat. Walk from your desk to the bookshelf. Move your hands to write a letter. But the body has opinions too. It tells the mind what it needs. I’m hungry. This hurts. I’m tired. I need to rest.”

She looked at him pointedly.

“I’m with you so far.”

“Good. So your body is telling the mind that it’s tired. You start yawning. Your brain gets fuzzy. You can’t keep your eyes open. But you’re a busy man. You have Duke things to do. So you take one of those helpful little pills, and you can keep going. But the pill isn’t making your body less tired, it’s just shutting up all the usual ways it lets you know that it needs a break. And that’s fine… for a while. But the longer you go without doing the things your body needs, the more desperate it gets. You aren’t listening to the usual signals, so it starts finding other ways to get your attention.”

Galatea gestured to his crotch again. “This is a very common one for men. Auditory hallucinations usually come next.”

Leto let out a breath. He wasn’t as shy now, which was a shame, but Galatea appreciated the glint of relief in his eyes. A small smile quirked at his lips.

“So what would you recommend, nurse?”

“It’s doctor, actually. Dr Whore. And for the long term, I prescribe sleep. No anti-fatigue pills for at least two weeks, unless absolutely necessary.”

He huffed, but was actually smiling now. “That’s a big ask, you know.”

“Make that three weeks, then. Also,” she took his chin between her index finger and thumb, “stop worrying about it. Your cock is fine. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. These things happen a lot more often than you think. And worrying makes it worse.”

“Alright, I get it.” He turned his face into her hand. His lips brushed her thumb. “And what about the short term, Dr Whore?”

“A massage, definitely,” was her immediate response. “While you were having a grope earlier, I felt your back. It’s all tied up in knots. A massage, and then a good night's sleep.” She paused, picked at a lock of his curly hair. It was still a little mussed from when she’d run her fingers through it, and now it was obvious how oily it was. “Scratch that. A bath. A nice warm bath. Massage. Then sleep. Lucky you, I’m good at all of those things. Bathroom’s through there, yeah?”

“A bath? On Arrakis? Isn’t that wasteful?” Leto protested as she slid off the desk and made her way towards the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

The bathroom, as the rest of Leto’s residence, was both spartan and beautiful. Decent sized, with a large tub taking up the center, a separate shower, toilet, and sink with a vanity all rounding the walls with accompanying shelves.

“How can it be wasteful?” Galatea countered, turning on the water. “You have a water reclamation system, right?”

Leto trailed into the room after her, looking a little lost. “Of course.”

“And filters in the cooling systems to collect the steam in the air?”

“Yeah, but…”

“But nothing. You’re the Duke. You deserve a nice bath from time to time. Call it a prerogative.” Satisfied with the water temperature, she straightened up and faced him, hands on her hips. “Now strip. I’m going to see if you have anything here we can actually use.”

With that, she started rummaging through his cabinets. Leto was a practical man, not prone to collecting frivolous things. But at his station, being well groomed was a necessity. Shampoo. Conditioner. Soap. Body wash. Beard oil. Lotion. All decent smelling. But next time… if there was a next time… she would bring some nicer things for him to use.

Galatea gathered up her finds and turned to see that Leto had done as she asked. He leaned over the edge of the tub, deliciously bare as he swished his hand through the water, brow furrowed in thought.

Heat pooled in her stomach. It wasn’t exactly uncommon for her to find clients attractive. But fuck, this just wasn’t fair.

Smooth golden skin stretched over an athletic build. Leto was sculpted as a statue—a beautiful amalgamation of well-toned muscles and soft flesh. A handful of scars smattered his upper body, and Galatea longed to trace them. Those, and the lovely curve of his arse.

Leto glanced up and saw her looking. His pensive expression turned smug.

Galatea laughed quietly and gave his face a light shove, telling him to hurry up and get in the bath. Leto did as he was told, a sigh of relief escaping him as he sank into the water.

“A Duke’s prerogative, you said?”

Galatea set down her things and stripped to the waist. “Prerogative. Absolutely.” She turned off the water and settled on her knees behind his head. “You work too hard. You deserve some things that make you feel good.”

Leto didn’t respond, just hummed absently as she added soap to the water and wet a fluffy washcloth. With it, she began to clean his chest and neck. His skin was hot under her hand, and she thought about what it would feel like to explore the same area with her mouth.

He sighed blissfully at her touch. Galatea imagined that it wouldn’t take much to make him moan.

Perhaps it was these thoughts that set the stage for her next one, or maybe she was riding the high of having made it farther than the other women that the brothel had sent before her. Either way, when she spotted the knife laying carelessly among Leto’s discarded clothing, Galatea got a very, very bad idea.

And GOD, it was such a bad idea. The kind where she wasn’t sure if it was so bad that it was good, or so good it was bad. The kind that, if it didn’t work, could absolutely get her killed. Hell, it might get her killed even if it did work. Fuck. No. It wasn’t worth the risk.

But as she continued to wash the Duke, her hands slowly dipping lower and lower down his abdomen, the idea niggled in the back of her mind.

Galatea knew that she had already set herself apart from the other whores the Duke had hired. No one else had made it past his dismissal. She should be satisfied with that. She should be thrilled by that.

But what about when the Duke’s problem passed? He wouldn’t need Galatea’s brusque attitude and world wisdom anymore. There were far more beautiful women for him to choose from that would be able to more than keep him satisfied.

The terrible idea took root.

Risk had gotten her this far. It seemed only fitting to let it take her all the way.

“Wet your hair for me, beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured in his ear.

Leto hummed acknowledgement and, while his head slipped down beneath the water, Galatea picked up the knife and tucked it safely in the waistband of her skirt.

Outwardly, Galatea calmly squirted shampoo into her hands. Inwardly, her heart hammered so wildly that she thought it might be trying to escape the rest of her body before it was too late.

Her fingers threaded through Leto’s hair. She worked the shampoo into a fine froth and used her nails to trace circles into his scalp. A head massage was one of the things that almost every man adored but never knew to ask for. She took her time with it. Although she was getting impatient, there was no need to rush.

Leto went boneless. His head lolled obediently with her touch. When she tilted his head back against her bare chest, he went willingly. One of her hands ghosted up his throat and scratched along his jaw, adding a little shampoo to his beard.

Galatea took her time rinsing him, too. She had him lean forward while she poured water from a pitcher over his head, careful not to get any into his eyes.

“Conditioner now,” Galatea told him. “Same idea.”

Leto leaned back against her and closed his eyes, so trusting and content.

Galatea reached down and, instead of the conditioner, picked up the knife. Before she could see reason and talk herself out of it, she had it against Leto’s throat.

The Duke inhaled sharply. His eyes snapped open, wide with shock. All of the relaxation she’d coaxed into him dissipated.

“What is this?” He demanded, his voice tight with anger. She thought of him as a coiled spring, ready to launch into motion. Ready to fight. But Galatea was in control. He was at her mercy. So he stayed perfectly still. Waiting for her to make a move.

Somehow, Galatea was able to hide how affected she was—practically trembling with arousal, fear, and adrenaline. Her free hand drifted down his body and wrapped around his pretty cock.

Leto gasped. This time, his body responded to her beautifully.

“Your body is trying to tell you something, Leto,” she whispered against his ear. “What’s it saying?”

She pumped him slowly. A low groan rumbled in his chest. His head pressed back against her sternum as he started to pant.

Galatea watched his face carefully. Checking for any sign of genuine distress. He was smart. By now, he understood what she was doing. The alarm was gone, but he remained guarded. His lovely poet eyes flickered from her face to where her hand worked between his legs.

He had to know by now that he wasn’t in any danger. What kind of assassin jerked off her victim first?

Leto shuddered against her as she increased her pace. With the blade still pressed tightly against his throat, he fought to keep still. The wariness gave way to pleasure. His eyes fluttered closed, and the quiet of the bathroom was filled with his quiet moans.

Desperate to hold something, but knowing better than to grab at her arms—as both hands were very busy—Leto clutched the edges of the tub so hard that his fingers turned white.

“My beautiful boy,” Galatea murmured, her lips touching his ear. “You needed this, didn’t you? You’re doing so well. Let go. I’ve got you.”

He didn’t last very long, but then, she hadn’t wanted him to. Leto’s body arched in the water. He gasped and cursed and shuddered. Galatea held him through it, whispering soft encouragement and praises until he slumped back against her, utterly spent.

Galatea lay the knife to the side, dizzy with relief and her own daring. She took Leto’s head in her hands, brushing his wet curls from his face and checking his neck.

To her horror, a single pearl of blood welled from a small cut across his throat. It was hardly more than a shaving cut, but it filled her with terror.

She had held a Duke at knifepoint. She’d made him bleed.

Galatea pressed her thumb against it, willing it to disappear. Leto winced slightly and opened one eye.

“I didn’t actually mean to cut you,” Galatea said weakly. “I’m sorry.”

Leto closed his eyes again and nuzzled against her arm.

“S’fine,” he mumbled. Adrenaline had given his system the kickstart that it needed, but it was fading fast. “Worth it.”

Relieved, Galatea kissed the top of his head. Then she went to work finishing his bath—applying and rinsing conditioner, washing his face, applying beard oil. She did it fairly quickly, knowing that the endorphins, combined with his exhaustion, were calling him to sleep. Galatea was stronger than she looked, but she couldn’t carry him to bed. Leaving him to sleep in the tub wasn’t exactly an option either.

When she guided him up to his feet, he went willingly. Leto stood while she dried him with a towel, meek and obedient as a child. By the time she grabbed the lotion she’d found and steered him out of the bathroom, Galatea thought he seemed half asleep already.

She pulled back the sheets of his bed. “Lay down on your stomach, beautiful boy. There you go.”

Leto all but sagged into bed. He buried his face into his pillow with a relieved sigh. Galatea joined him, kneeling by his hips and lathering her hands with lotion.

Within minutes, he was asleep. Galatea spent a good hour working out the knots in his back. She kneaded and pressed the tension in his tired muscles until they were jelly. Then she did the same to his legs, his feet, his buttocks.

He looked so good like this. If Galatea knew how to paint, she would have gladly spent the rest of the night capturing this image. Truely, it belonged with the ancient Renaissance artworks she’d seen in her holobooks. Exposed, vulnerable, beautiful.

When she was done, Galatea pulled the blankets over him. There was some time left before dawn, but she didn’t dare sleep. Instead, she fetched another book from the shelf and settled down on top of the covers beside the sleeping Duke.

She wiled away the hours, soothed by Leto’s soft snores and the silence of the Palace. She could get used to this. She begged every god in existence to let her get used to this.

Dawn came too soon. Galatea returned her books to their respective spots on the shelves. She had a few of the brothel’s business cards in her small clutch, one of which she retrieved along with her lipstick.

Galatea applied a fresh coat to her lips, then pressed them to the card. The shape of her kiss transferred perfectly just below the House of Priapos inscription. Below that, Galatea wrote her name in an elegant, looping hand.

She left the card on his desk and left, hoping that she would be seeing this place again very soon.

[strayrockette]

The Dragon & The Griffin

The Beginning of the Path Masterlist

A/N: The first chapter I put out was a feeler for the story. Since I had a good reception for the previous chapter(Link below), I am exploring the beginning of it all. This was revised on 9/7/24

If you want to be tagged leave a comment, DM, or reblog with an ask to be tagged.

Warnings: Mentions of death

Reblog and like if you enjoyed the chapter and comment with your thoughts!

Previous Chapter

Irene Atreides was not born a Bene Gesserit; she had been Irene, the beloved daughter of House Atreides before she was ever bound to sisterhood—a twist of fate that even the Reverend Mother had perhaps misjudged. The Atreides were a formidable house, their power rooted in loyalty and strength, and no decision made against them was ever made lightly. Alliances were forged and broken, destinies twisted by compromise, even when the path led only to destruction.

Now, Irene stood before a tall mirror in her dimly lit chamber, her swollen belly pressing against the soft fabric of her gown. Her hands ran over the curve, feeling the life that grew within her, a life she had never planned for but could no longer imagine living without. Dark clouds loomed beyond the window, the sky thick and brooding, promising a storm that would ravage everything in its path. The air was dense, laden with the electric charge of impending thunder, and Irene’s breath hitched as a familiar ache rippled through her. She clutched the windowsill, her reflection staring back at her—tired eyes, lined with the weight of secrets and regrets.

Plans within plans within plans. That’s what she had been taught. Irene had not expected her mission to unravel like this, to find herself on the brink of something she could neither control nor fully comprehend. She was sent to destroy the Targaryens, to finish the last of a line that had long been deemed too dangerous to endure. But here she was, far from her purpose, burdened by a love she never should have allowed.

She closed her eyes, memories flooding her—a violet-eyed lover who had captured her heart with a single glance, whose gentle hands had traced the paths of her scars, whose laugh had filled her nights with warmth. She could still feel his touch, his breath hot against her ear as they whispered in the darkness. “We mustn’t,” she’d murmured, but her resolve had been as fragile as glass. His scent—wild rain and mint—enveloped her, soothing her fears. “And deny ourselves?” he’d teased, his smile a promise of a fleeting peace she could never sustain.

A sharp pang shot through her abdomen, dragging her back to the present. She gritted her teeth, fighting against the pain that was both physical and deeply emotional. Irene wanted her daughter to be stronger, to have a heart fortified against the world’s cruelty—a heart that wouldn’t bleed as hers had. Another kick jolted her, and she managed a strained smile. “You fight me at every turn, little one,” Irene murmured, her voice a mix of pain and reluctant admiration. “Just like your father.”

Irene’s body felt heavy, every step dragging as she moved across the room. She gripped the rough bedpost, her knuckles white, her back arched with the strain of impending birth. “I NEED A MIDWIFE!” she screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls. Footsteps and hurried voices filled the chamber as three women rushed in, their expressions tight with urgency.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the room in a brief, blinding light. Irene’s cries mingled with the storm outside, each bolt of thunder rattling the iron bars of the window. The midwife took charge, barking orders as Irene’s vision blurred with tears, her mind slipping between the searing agony and fleeting glimpses of the life she was about to bring forth. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t find the words, only the raw, primal instinct to push.

Irene’s vision blurred as the storm outside raged on, lightning splitting the sky in violent bursts of light, each crack of thunder reverberating through the stone walls of the castle. She clung to the bedpost, her body trembling with the strain of labor, every muscle taut and burning as she fought to bring her daughter into the world. The wind howled, its fierce cry finding its way through the cracks in the window, sending chills through the air and rattling the iron bars like a desperate prisoner seeking escape.

The room was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the faint, acrid smoke of burning candles. Irene’s breath hitched, each inhale a struggle against the weight pressing down on her chest. She could barely focus on the hurried voices of the midwife and nurses around her, their commands lost in the fog of her exhaustion. Everything felt distant and distorted, as if she were slipping between the seams of reality. And then, in the chaos, there was a sudden, eerie stillness. The storm quieted for the briefest moment, the thunder pausing as if the universe itself had drawn in a breath. Irene’s senses sharpened, the pain momentarily dulled as a presence filled the room—something ancient and unfamiliar, yet impossibly close.

A whisper cut through the silence, soft and resonant, like the low murmur of a long-forgotten voice. It wasn’t the midwife or the nurses. It wasn’t her own fractured thoughts. It was something else entirely, something that bypassed her mind and struck at the core of her soul.

"Nykeā zaldrīzes hen vestras." A lone dragon enters the world. The words, spoken in High Valyrian, flowed like a river of molten gold, carrying the weight of an ancient promise. It was the language of her husband’s ancestors, the tongue of the dragonlords whose blood now mixed with her daughter’s. Irene’s breath caught in her throat, the whisper reverberating inside her like the distant echo of a dragon’s roar.

The voice carried a certainty that transcended time, a declaration that pierced through the storm’s fury with the quiet force of fate. It was neither comforting nor condemning, but a statement of undeniable truth, laced with the power of a legacy that could not be denied. The words rippled through Irene’s body, wrapping around her heart like a protective shield, vibrating deep within her bones.

Irene’s eyes widened, tears welling as the full meaning sank in. This was no ordinary birth; this was the arrival of something rare and destined. Her daughter was not just an heir, not just a child, but a lone dragon—a force entering the world that would challenge and defy it at every turn.

Irene’s heart ached with both fear and pride, knowing that her daughter would be alone in ways she could never fully shield her from, but also knowing that Amina would carry the strength of her father’s bloodline, the fire of the Targaryens. “A lone dragon,” Irene whispered faintly, her voice barely audible above the faint rumble of the storm. She looked down at her swollen belly, feeling the tremors of life within, and she knew that her daughter was something far more dangerous and extraordinary than any simple heir. Amina would stand defiant in a world that sought to shape or destroy her, bound to a destiny Irene could only glimpse in her darkest dreams.

The whisper lingered, echoing softly in the charged air, even as the midwife’s voice broke through, urgent and commanding. “Push, my Lady!” The command jolted Irene back to the present, the pain crashing over her once more, but the whisper stayed with her, a haunting presence that refused to be silenced. Irene’s mind swam with images—dragons soaring through storm-ravaged skies, a lone figure standing unbroken amidst the chaos, violet eyes blazing with unspoken resolve. With one final, desperate push, Irene brought her daughter into the world. Amina’s wail pierced the air, sharp and unyielding, echoing against the storm like a defiant cry of existence. The midwife lifted the newborn, her tiny body slick with the blood of birth, her eyes wide and impossibly alive, reflecting the storm’s fury and the promise of the whisper.

“Please,” Irene gasped, reaching out with trembling hands. “Let me… let me see her.” The midwife hesitated but finally placed the baby in Irene’s arms. Irene’s breath hitched as she looked down at her daughter—those vivid, fierce violet eyes meeting hers. Amina’s eyes were a vibrant burst of color, a beacon of hope and fire against the bleakness of Irene’s final moments. Irene touched her daughter’s cheek, feeling the warmth and life beneath her fingers, and for that fleeting moment, the pain receded, replaced by a fierce, unbreakable love. “Amina Targaryen,” Irene whispered, her voice barely holding against the storm’s roar.

“A lone dragon, my sweet. You are born of fire, and you will not be consumed.” Irene’s vision blurred, her strength ebbing as she held her daughter close. The whisper echoed one last time, faint and distant, fading into the ether but lingering in Irene’s heart. She knew that Amina would not be her mother’s daughter; she would be something far more. And as Irene’s final breath left her, the storm outside began to wane, the winds dying down as if in acknowledgment of the new life that had just entered the fold—a dragon, alone but unyielding, ready to carve her path in a world that would never fully understand her.

Translations:

Nykeā lone zaldrīzes enters se lurugon.= A lone dragon enters the fold

____

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen

[jaskieriswitchersexual]

Dune fanfic prompt

Idea: That scene where Leto and Stilgar meet for the first time, when Leto acknowledges the Fremen's suffering under the Harkonnen and asks what Stilgar wants as recompense, but in addition to "don't seek out our sietches, don't hunt our people, leave the sandworms alone" he also demands Paul's hand in marriage. Alliance by marriage is something these noble outsider families do, so he figures this is something that will mean more to the Duke than a verbal promise. The betrothal can be to the Fremen of your choosing, Chani, Stilgar, an OC.

[lixzey]

choices

in which servant serena idaho gets roped into being a possible bride for the duke paul atreides to even out the number of candidates.

paul atreides x oc!idaho

@helens3amstuff @gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @tchalamss @ashlynnmalfoy @crazycat-ladys-blog @michakune @mxltifxnd0m @spencerr3idd @dangelnleif @sthkate @ferrjulie @imnotoverlyobsessive @mel-vaz @elsagreeer @lovely-maryj @meowmeowmau @bobthe-turmpetman29 @saintcosette @ashisabitgay @ladyladybuggg @nyrasunderwrld @lizzxoxoxo @remussbitch @jadahxx @starrystormwritings @ell0ra-br3kk3r @dreary-salem @drewsandsebastianswife @greenapplegrass @lilianelena39 @danni-phant0m @haybellewrites @cloudlst @si4a @ev3ningrain @ttulipwritezz @lilmaymayy @bullets-from-another-dimension @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @reg-arcturus-black @abruuinlove @marina468 @3stelar @timhalamet @st4rf00k3r @idli-dosa @jimins15thhair @blacksgarden

[of-house-atreides]

Under the Veil | Epilogue

Series Summary: Duke Leto Atreides had a woman he loved and an heir he was proud of. The reason why he never married the mother of his son was a political one, the very same reason why he was marrying a girl half his age he had never met.

A/N: sorry this took so long, I hope you'll like it! Please do leave feedback, and reblog!

Words: 1634

Masterlist | series masterlist

The light breeze carried the briny smell of the sea as the sun shied away behind the heavy grey clouds. Sierra was lying on the soft blanket they had stretched on the grass, her head resting in Jessica’s lap as she gently caressed her hair. She raised a hand to shield her eyes from the weak rays of sunshine filtering through the thick clouds and Leto moved up slightly from where he was sitting, protecting his wife from the sun, taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth to place a kiss on her fingertips. She smiled at him, the joy on her face and the love in her eyes warmed his heart like a gentle flame burning brighter than the sun behind his back. A sudden grimace appeared on her face and came to ruin the peaceful mood and bring worry to Leto’s mind. But she quickly gave him a reassuring smile as she took his hand and brought it to her round belly. The corner of his lips twitched as he felt his child kick against his palm. It never ceased to amaze him.

“She’s grown and healthy,” Jessica said as her fingers brushed either side of Sierra’s jaw as she leaned over.

“I know,” Sierra smiled, sliding a hand in Jessica’s hair and pulling her for a kiss.

Jessica’s lips always tasted sweet, which was always odd. Sierra thought she looked salty. A strong powerful taste that made you thirsty for more. But Jessica tasted like berries, and smelled of flowers. But not the candy like. She was bitter. In a good way. In the best way.

“She won’t be long now,” Jessica added as she brushed her nose against Sierra’s.

“You keep saying that,” Sierra complained. “And she’s still not here.”

“Patience, my love,” Leto said as he moved his hand on his wife’s belly, caressing the soft fabric of her dress. “She’ll be here soon enough.”

***

Sierra had taken the habits of wandering around the castle as much as she could. It was the first thing she did after breakfast and the last thing she did before bed. The windy hills offered her a breath of fresh air she longed for and made her feel like home. She had gotten used to the cold beach and the humid sand, learning to appreciate the salty smell of the sea and the cries of the seagulls.

It had been a hard conversation for Leto to start when they came near her due date and he had wanted her to stop leaving the comfort of the castle so much. He worried she’d start her labor in the middle of the deserted hills, with only Edward there to help her. So they had to compromise, and now Nesta and Caro followed her wherever she went. She hated to be such a hindrance to her housekeeper and healer, but she would have hated being confined to her quarters even more. What she didn’t hate, however, was the constant presence of either Jessica, or Leto, or both.

On that night, after having had a pleasant dinner with them, with Paul and Sisi, she had gone to bed with a relieved sigh of exhaustion. Everything hurt. From head to toe. And yes, perhaps the usual baths she shared with her husband and concubine helped, but it never chased the pain away entirely. And although she fell asleep relaxed on most nights, on that night, her headache and sore feet felt a bit more painful, and she knew she would wake up before daybreak.

A couple of hours past midnight, Sierra was awakened to a wet bed. Leto was fast asleep to her right, Jessica to her left, and an uncontrollable whine of pain came out of her mouth to break the silence of the night and wake the two people she loved most in her life.

Leto blinked as she did her best to sit up, propping herself up with her elbows, biting her lower lip, trying to conceal another cry of pain.

“Sierra?” his tired puzzled voice only a whisper from his lips.

“Leto,” she called, the tone of her voice leaving no place for doubt. He had to wake up. He had to wake up now.

Sierra felt movement from the left side of the bed and light came to chase the night away and reveal the wet sheets under her.

“It’s time,” Jessica said as she nodded to Leto, reminding him of what he had to do.

He jumped off the bed and hurried to the door where he found Edward and his colleagues to whom he gave the orders to start the protocol they had agreed upon months before.

“It hurts,” Sierra sobbed as she tried to take deep breaths.

“I know love, but you’ll be alright, I promise.”

Jessica moved to leave the bed but Sierra seized her wrists and begged with her eyes.

“Please don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetling,” Jessica said as she leaned to press a kiss on Sierra’s temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She pulled the sheets away from Sierra as Leto rejoined them and went straight to his wife and helped her sit upright. She clung to him as she knew he would let her go to allow Caro and the midwives to do their job. She looked up at her husband, with fear in her eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile as he leaned towards her and pressed his forehead against hers.

“I will be with you, always,” he whispered.

They remained in each other’s arms for as long as they could, until Caro entered the room and loudly ordered the Duke of Caladan to move away from the princess. He did so with an amused smile that his wife returned. It was all in Caro’s hands now. They were going to be fine.

***

Sierra stared at herself in the mirror, running her hands over her dress, trying to chase away the wrinkles staining her beautiful gown. Jessica appeared behind her, wrapped her arms around her waist and brought her to her chest before she left a kiss on her neck.

“You look beautiful.”

Sierra smiled back at her lover’s reflection in the mirror before she turned around and took a look at Jessica’s own dress.

“So do you,” she said before she leaned to kiss her lips. “Big day, today.”

“Indeed,” Jessica sighed.

“Will you be okay?”

“I’m sure I will be.”

“What a sight.”

The two mothers turned to see Leto, in his uniform, walk towards them, his two year old daughter in his arms.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he smirked.

“A bit late for that,” Jessica said as he leaned to kiss her, while Sierra took her daughter from him.

“You look gorgeous,” he whispered to his concubine.

“Well, don’t you look pretty,” Sierra cooed at her child. “Did daddy dress you?”

“Daddy tried,” Leto admitted, “but Nesta did.”

The two women chuckled as the toddler repeated Nesta’s name.

“Look at you,” he told his wife, “as beautiful as you were on our own wedding day.”

“Minus the tears,” she added. “Doesn’t daddy look handsome,” she whispered in her child’s ear.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, making them laugh.

Sierra tiptoed as she cupped her husband’s cheek and pressed a kiss on his lips. “We’re going to be late.”

“I’ll go check on Paul,” Jessica said, waving at the little girl before she exited the room.

“Bye, Jessica,” Sierra took her daughter’s arm and waved her goodbye. “You look so pretty,” she repeated before placing a kiss on her head.

“Just like her mother.”

“And what are you trying to get with this flattery, husband?” she said playfully.

“Nothing we can do in the presence of our little one,” he replied with a knowing smile.

“Not that we have time for it, anyway.”

“Indeed,” he hummed as he leaned in to kiss his wife. “We should go. The wedding won’t start until we’re there.”

“And wouldn’t the Prime Minister be heartbroken,” Sierra joked, and Leto’s laugh echoed in the room as they stepped out.

***

It was weird for Sierra to step foot in that chapel once more, two years after her wedding. She remembered everything from that day, everything she had felt, every ache in her heart. But now, all she could think about was Leto’s kind words and his caring gestures. Everything bad had been forgotten, cast aside to leave place for his smile, and the sincerity in his eyes. The memories from that day she had feared were now the ones she most cherished.

She watched Sisi walk towards the altar in her beautiful wedding gown towards Paul, and smiled as she knew both of them wanted this. Yes, it was a marriage for political reasons, but at least they wanted it.

And when they exchanged their vows, Leto took her hand in his, and when they shared they wedding rings, Sierra intertwined her fingers with his, and when they kissed, she tightened her hold on her daughter, with tears of happiness in her eyes.

She had made Leto promise he would never do to their daughter what her father had done to her. He wouldn’t send her away to marry an old man she had never met. She was not the heir, and she would not be a political tool. She wouldn’t need to be, she wasn’t going to be. She would marry for love should she choose to marry at all. But she would be free to do whatever she liked. To study, to work, to love.

And she watched the couple with grateful eyes as she knew the chance they had to have been able to marry for both love and duty, as she knew her daughter wouldn’t need to do either.

*********

Tags: @karolajnx0yep @partypoison00 @beepboopyoda @cute-baby-ducks @theliterarybeldam @slytherisstuff @rayisthehoe

[sansaorgana]

THROWN TO THE WOLVES MASTERLIST

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

It’s written as an usual x Reader fic without describing anything about the Reader’s looks but I still classified it as an OC as well since she is Paul Atreides’ half-sister.

BACK TO MASTERLIST || TTTW TAG

» PART I — After receiving the news from the Emperor about moving to Arrakis, Duke Leto suspects the upcoming war with the Harkonnens. His daughter's marriage with the Baron's heir is supposed to create an alliance and ensure his family's safety. Previously sheltered and protected Princess Atreides must now face the harsh reality on her own.

» PART II — Giedi Prime's new na-baroness has a difficult time adjusting to her new life and her psychotic husband's ways. She has to find a strategy to survive amongst the rough and dangerous Harkonnens.

» PART III — Na-baroness finds out a few interesting details about her husband's past as she gets to watch him for the first time in the arena.

» PART IV — Feyd is not as easy to manipulate as his wife wishes. Her sudden change of behaviour leaves him confused. Na-baroness wants to find out why she's not receiving any letters from her father.

» PART V — When Baron Harkonnen breaks the truce with The Atreides family, the new na-baroness is forced to choose a side.

» PART VI — Na-baroness becomes untouchable since she is carrying The Harkonnen heir. Her new status allows her to push her husband's boundaries more fiercely.

» PART VII — Baron Harkonnen throws a celebration in the honour of the na-baroness being pregnant with the heir of his house. Feyd-Rautha's unusual gift for his wife surprises everyone.

» PART VIII — Giedi Prime celebrates Feyd-Rautha's birthday and the hundredth kill in the arena. Meanwhile, na-baroness gets reminded by The Baron who pulls the strings and finds out unpleasant truth about the promise her aunt has given to the Bene Gesserit.

» PART IX — Feyd-Rautha focuses on bringing back the spice production to full efficency while his wife plots against The Baron. The ghosts of her past are haunting her in the Arrakeen Palace where her family lived and died.

» PART X — Muad'Dib's forces attack the palace during the imperial visit on Arrakis. The new Baroness Harkonnen must face her past and choose her future.

» THE GALAXY'S PERSPECTIVE [SEQUEL] — The galaxy's perspective on the new Baron Harkonnen and his wife; their new power, influence and reputation.

» FEYD x READER x PAUL [AU] — Alternate version of the story, in which I explore the dynamic between Feyd, Reader and Paul if the siblings have been in an incestous relationship before.

[slaybestieslay946]

Dream Girl

Summary: Paul has dreamt of a girl all his life, and when he reaches Arrakis, he finally discovers her to be the assistant to Dr Liet Kynes.

Pairing: Paul Atreides x Fremen!OC

Word count: 2500

Warnings: Slight mentions of violence, pretentious writing style.

A/N: just need to get this out because im so obsessed with him its becoming unhealthy. hope anyone reading enjoys and has a nice day! You never know i might add chapters if i feel like it lmao.

Paul had seen her in his dreams many times over the years. She had been with him throughout it all, from the cradle until now, as he began to bloom into adulthood. 

He’d never thought he’d really see her in front of his eyes. Over the years he’d dismissed her as a mere fantasy; the leftovers of a child’s overactive imagination. Blue eyes that couldn’t quite be real, and a beauty that only existed in daydreams. 

Yet, here she was, standing stoic beside the ‘judge of the change’, surveying the approaching group with those piercing blue eyes. Paul had to remind himself to breathe before he collapsed from lack of oxygen. 

“My Lord Duke.” The older woman greeted his father, bowing her head, and so did the dream-girl, except the fire in her eyes never faded. 

“Dr Kynes. Thank you for agreeing to take us out.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, sire. This is my apprentice and pilot, Nami.” 

Duke Leto acknowledged the dream-girl, no, Nami, with a quick nod. She responded in kind.

“Now,” Kynes began, “We must check your stillsuits-” The two women stepped forward in sync to aid the group, but were stopped by Gurney’s blades at their necks. 

Paul couldn’t help but admire the way she didn’t flinch as a blade was held to her throat, merely raising her chin in defiance. Few would have the gall to glare at the soldier in such a way. 

“Gurney, no need. Let them work.” The Duke asserted, and Gurney lowered his sword, albeit rather begrudgingly. 

They then approached the group of outworlders to adjust their suits. Paul had to force himself to breathe normally as Nami approached him and the two locked eyes. He quickly tore his gaze away from hers, as she began to check his suit was on correctly. 

All the while, Kynes was going on a long and probably very interesting spiel about stillsuits and their benefits, but he found it very hard to concentrate when he was face to face with the girl he had been dreaming about all his life. 

“You’ve worn a stillsuit before?” Nami suddenly asked, inspecting some of the straps on the front. 

“No, this is my first time.” 

“Hm,” She cocked her head in confusion, “Your boots are fashioned slip-fast at the ankles. Who taught you to do that?” 

“Just seemed like the right way.” He said, trying to work out what was going on inside her head. 

Their exchange had now caught the attention of the rest of the group, and Nami turned to Kynes, muttering a few words in a different language, shaking her head slightly. 

It took Paul a few moments to realise that they were speaking in the language of the fremen. 

“You’re fremen.” He said plainly, like it had been obvious the whole time. 

“We are accepted in both sietch and village, yes.” Nami said, nodding. 

Before he could ask anymore questions, Kynes began to lead them to the aircraft, explaining that they would be travelling to the nearest harvesting field north of Arrakeen. 

The group all entered one of the small aircraft, and Paul watched as Nami began to sit in the pilot's chair, but was stopped by his father. 

“If you don’t mind, Nami, I’d like to pilot.” He said, with an almost childlike smile upon his face. Paul remembered his fathers admission that he had once wished to be a pilot himself. 

“Of course, my lord.” She bowed her head, and shuffled over to the co-pilot’s seat. 

The group all strapped themselves into their seats, grabbing a headset and preparing for take off. 

Duke Leto soon began to press several buttons, and Paul’s dream-girl followed suit, adjusting switches here and there. The Duke soon pulled up off the ground and turned in a near-perfect manoeuvre that left his co-pilot impressed. 

“You’re a pilot?” She asked. 

“Yes I was, in my youth. It has been many years though.” He smiled, regarding the desert beneath him in what looked like wonder. 

“You are very talented.” Nami complimented simply, and Paul watched as a newfound respect bled into her eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel a surge of yearning for her to look at him in the same way. With respect earned by his own deeds, rather than the kind that stemmed from a generations old name. 

Kynes then began her narration as they moved over dunes, towards the spice fields. Paul chipped in here and there with a question or two for her. 

“Why don’t they just shield the crawlers?” He asked, looking down at the desert below, where one of the crawlers was moving. Was this the desert power his father had been talking about?

“Shields are a death sentence in the desert.” Nami chipped in, turning her head momentarily to look at Paul, who tore his face away in embarrassment when he felt a slight heat rise to his cheeks. 

“Yes,” Kynes continued for her apprentice, “It attracts the worms and drives them into a killing frenzy.” 

“Is that one of the worms?” His father asked, pointing at a vague cloud of dust on the horizon. 

Kynes picked up a pair of binoculars from her lap and peered into them for a moment, before answering, “That’s a worm alright. And a big one. Nami, call it in for me?” 

“On it.” She replied, and began speaking into the headset in various codes, asking for any carriers in the area. 

It didn’t take long for one to appear, and it began making its way to the crawler below. Paul watched in awe as it made its descent. He knew spice harvesting was dangerous, and of course accommodations had to be made, but the technology used was truly fascinating. How was that tiny carrier going to lift that enormous crawler?

He would, unfortunately, never find out. Because as the carrier attempted to attach itself, one of the arms snapped. Suddenly an influx of frenzied shouts came over the radio in confusion, as Kynes chipped in to explain the situation. 

The Duke then snapped into action. 

“How many men on that crawler?” 

“A crew of 21.” Kynes replied. 

“Our ships can only take 6 each. That leaves 3 men.” Paul added. 

“We’ll find a way.” His father responded, flicking a switch before dropping into a nosedive, the other two ships following suit behind him. 

Soon, they were landing just beside the crawlers, and unbuckling themselves from their seats inside the aircraft. Paul was the first up and moving. 

“The shield generators should weigh about the same as a few men.” Paul said, waiting for Gurney to finish undoing his seatbelt. 

“Good idea,” Gurney said, “I’ll toss them out, go instruct the men.” He said, patting the younger boy on the shoulder as he moved to get rid of the shields, Paul slipping past him and onto the sand below. 

As he dropped onto the sand of the desert for the first time, he couldn’t help but pause. Something about his boots on the ground felt natural, and as he looked down at the swathe of gold, he had never felt more at home. 

What snapped him into action again was the thud of a shield generator falling from the aircraft, and then Paul was moving, running towards the groups of men coming out of the crawler. 

“7 over there, 7 over there, move!!” He shouted, pointing to the various aircraft waiting for them and waving them over.

And then a cloud of sand engulfed him. 

Paul quickly brought his mask to his face and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the stinging pain of millions of grains of sand hitting him. And then suddenly everything around him seemed to still, and he brought his mask down away from his face, opening his eyes. 

He was surrounded by a cloud of dust, and he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. 

Paul took a deep breath in, feeling the way his nostrils tingled as he inhaled, and noticing the sparkle of the dust around him. 

He wasn’t standing in dust, but spice. 

 Before his eyes the real world melted away, and he was overtaken by visions. Visions of violence, death, the dunes of Arrakis, a blade, and finally Nami’s face, blue-blue eyes staring into his own. 

Then she began to cry, tears streaming down her face. The face that had seemed so stoic in the real world was not so in his vision. 

Then his vision began to return, and through the haze of spice he heard something familiar, before realising what it was. 

“I recognise your footsteps old man…” Paul whispered, jolting awake as Gurney clapped him on the shoulder, hauling him to his feet. 

“C’mon!” He shouted, glancing to the side. Paul followed his gaze, and was immediately spurred into action as he saw the fast approaching sandworm. 

Immediately he was sprinting towards the aircraft, locking eyes with his father through the windshield as he began to take off, spinning so the open door was facing them. 

And there she was. 

Gurney was the first to reach her, and she quickly hauled him up into the aircraft, pushing him in while not taking her eyes off Paul. 

“Atreides!” She shouted, holding out her hand for him to take, evident concern in her eyes. 

He pumped his legs faster than he thought possible, catching up with the aircraft and grabbing her hand, watching as the sandworm emerged from the very place he had been kneeling, overtaken by visions. 

Eventually he pulled himself away from the sight of the desert, clambering up the ramp towards Nami, who quickly shut the door behind him. 

“Thank you.” Paul said to her, still slightly breathless. 

“No problem.” She replied, dusting a few grains off his shoulder before returning to her seat beside the Duke, slipping on her headset and reporting their re-entry into general airspace. 

Paul moved back to his seat just behind her, trying to ignore his fathers angry gaze, as well as quell the aggressive beating of his heart. Their trip had been more eventful than he thought. 

Soon the aircraft was landing, and Paul stood to get up, wanting to get away from one of his fathers lectures, but not before saying goodbye to Nami. 

“Thank you, again.” He said, quickly.

She smiled this time, her face softening ever so slightly, “Take care, Paul Atreides. I pray we meet again.” 

He nodded, unable to form words in response as his tongue had grown heavy in his mouth. And then he ran away, jumping out of the aircraft as quickly as he could before he blurted out anything stupid.  

*

Paul whipped around taking in the sudden appearance of so many Fremen around him and his mother. They must have seen them running from the sandworm. 

“Do not run. You will only waste precious water.” A man said from above him. He seemed to be a leader. Upon closer inspection, Paul realised it was Stilgar, the man who his father had received. 

“Stilgar? Do you remember me? You came before my fathers council.”

“Ah, yes. The Atreides boy.” 

“Stop wasting time, we need their water!” A cry came from above, and as Paul looked up, he saw a man, and beside him, his dream-girl. 

“Quiet Jamis. You know we cannot harm him. He is Atreides. Besides,” Nami jumped down from one of the ledges to stand beside Stilgar, “I will vouch for him.”

Objections erupted from the rest of the Fremen, but her eyes remained locked with Paul’s. Stilgar quickly jumped in to quiet them. 

“That is fine. The boy is young, he can still learn our ways. However, the woman cannot.” He declared, and Paul looked to Stilgar in horror, moving backwards to stand in front of his mother protectively. Although, it was mostly meaningless, as he knew his mother could protect herself perfectly well. 

“She’s too old to learn?” He asked, his voice harsh. 

“Atreides…” Nami said softly, almost like a warning not to push further. 

But he didn’t have to, as the Fremen were already drawing their knives, and Stilgar was removing the outer layer of cloth he was wearing. And then, his mother was leaping out from behind him, and she and Stilgar became locked in battle. 

Paul took the opportunity to gain the upperhand, climbing up to a higher ledge and stealing a maula pistol from one of the Fremen warriors, but not before shooting Nami an apologetic glance. 

As he looked back down, he saw that his mother had made quick work of the Fremen leader, holding his own blade to his throat. Nevertheless, he activated the pistol and kept it pointed at one of the nearby Fremen.

“Peace, woman. You did not tell me you were a weirding woman and a fighter.” He sighed. 

“Our conversation ran short.” She snapped, not letting go of him. 

“Peace. I judged you too hastily.” 

Jessica then released Stilgar, handing him back his blade, meanwhile Paul lowered his pistol.

“The woman is under my charge until we reach sietch Tabr. Nami, are you still willing to vouch for the boy?”

“Yes.” She said firmly, and the rest of the Fremen sighed, making a cutting notion on the top of their wrists with their blades, before sheathing them. 

Once that was done, Stilgar began climbing up the ledge to approach Paul, holding out a hand for the maula pistol. 

“Come now. You will get your own when you have earned it.” He said, and the younger man sighed, returning the weapon to him, albeit begrudgingly. 

That was when ‘Jamis’ decided to chip into the proceedings once more. 

“I will not have them.”

“Jamis, I have spoken,” Stilgar said, “Be still.”

“You talk like a leader, but the strongest leads. She bested you. I invoke the Amtal.” 

Paul’s mother stiffened beside him, and although he did not yet know what that meant, he knew it did not bode well. 

“Jamis, you may not challenge her-”

“Then who will fight in her place?”

“Jamis,” Nami piped up, “Do not do this, the night is fading.”

“Then the sun will witness this death, Nami. Where is her champion?” 

Paul now understood what was going on, and if anyone was going to fight for his mother it would be him. 

He stepped out from behind Stilgar, and walked towards Jamis in the way he had been taught to as a Duke’s son, back straight, head held high.

“I accept her champion.”

Stilgar sighed as Jamis brushed past them, but soon followed suit. As did the rest of the Fremen, his mother included, until it was only him and Nami left. 

“So, we meet again, Atreides.” She smiled, her voice slightly teasing. 

“Mhm. I see you’ve been praying.” Paul smirked, hoping to get the upper hand over her.

“Have you not?” She asked in faux shock, and it sent Paul spinning, because although he had not been praying, he had dreamt of her every night since he last saw her. 

“Besides,” Nami continued, not noticing his sudden flush, “I am beginning to regret my prayers. You are causing trouble already.” 

“It’s in my nature.”

“Evidently. Now, come along, you have a duel to prepare for. Jamis is a good fighter, if you try hard you may just die with honour.” She declared, a wry smile on her face as she turned on her heel and led him further into the rocks of the desert. 

[dunefandomhub]

Fic Rec Friday!

Each week I rec 3-4 fics from across the Duneverse featuring a different ship or theme each time!

I am open to taking suggestions/reccomendations at any time! Feel free to send an ask!

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen X Reader Fics

Turn the Inner Eye by @barbiedragon

Feyd-Rautha x Concubine!Reader

The Bene Gesserit trust in you to fulfill the prophecy

one-shot 1.8k words

Rated E

Thrown to the Wolves Series by @sansaorgana

Feyd-Rautha x fem!reader/Atreides!OC

After receiving the news from the Emperor about moving to Arrakis, Duke Leto suspects the upcoming war with the Harkonnens. His daughter's marriage with the Baron's heir is supposed to create an alliance and ensure his family's safety. Previously sheltered and protected Princess Atreides must now face the harsh reality on her own.

9 Parts

Diplomatic Relations by @lady-phasma

Feyd-Rautha x GN!Reader

No physical description of reader. Feyd is on a diplomatic tour of an unnamed planet (not Caladan) under Harkonnen rule. You catch his eye, smuttiness ensues. Plot if you squint.

one-shot 4k words

Princess by @valeskafics

Feyd x Corrino!Reader

Feyd Rautha makes it his mission to seduce you, the innocent younger sister of Princess Irulan.

one-shot 3.5k

DUBCON Dark Fic

[wixxid]

IVORY  · PART I

Fandom: Dune

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x Atreides!Female OC

Words: 2,176

Warnings: dark themes and arranged marriage

Summary: An arrangement is forged between two apposing houses to save your world the cost of war.

Fear is the mind killer.

It snakes inside of you, twisting and strangling until bitter death. It’s an escapable pit of darkness. A place where light fears to tread and all life suffers. You feel it now, the deep ripple of dread as it slows your precious breath.

The laces of your corset are drawn tight, narrowing your passages even further. Your humble servants dress you in silence; their faces veiled in sheer fabric. They don’t dare speak on this occasion. It's ritualistic. The way they prepare you in lavish fabric and accessories the color of gold and deep crimson.

It marks your arrival.

A fiery sun, rising upon a dark and desolate planet; far from the one to which you were born. There is no green on Giedi Prime. There are no vast oceans or scraping mountains. Their world is shrouded in black and white, a monochromatic wasteland.

Metallic toxins ruin this world, while great machines plow the surface; devouring its resources like a hungry beast. You’ve not stepped foot on this sphere, and already you can feel the shift. It's quick to form a haze over your mind.

This is no place for you.

This isn’t the future you envisioned, but rather the one to which has been so cruelly dictated. It’s a strategic alignment that only the Bene Gesserit would dare to conjure. The task has been assigned, and now you must survive. Failure is unthinkable - unacceptable.

There is only the union.

A pact to save your world the cost of war.

Walking the grand gangway of the starship, your father lead at the head of the envoy; a steady hand rested on his sword. Gurney stood guard on your fathers’ side, whilst your servants trailed at yours. The rest of your family – your lady mother and older brother – had remained on Caladan.

It isn’t custom to have them in your company. It’s the father’s duty to relinquish the daughter, as an act of traditional and good faith; but this is merely a transaction. This is a trade of life for peace, and as much as you despise the fact, your opinion has no meaning in the era of entitled men.

Maintaining your line of vision, you try not to allow your gaze to wander too far from the site of your own kin. This place is foreign and cold, and it wreaks of violence. The instant you detected the small huddled committee of Harkonnen officials, all waiting for your arrival, you shivered in realization of your pitiful reality.

“We welcome you to Geidi Prime, Duke Leto.”

A particularly lanky man stood eerily emotionless as he received your house; dressed head to toe in black layers. It’s a stark contrast to his otherwise hairless and pale skin. It didn’t take long at all for you ascertain the being’s true nature. You could sense it. A twisted mentat who serves logic to his master.

“Where is he?” questioned your father, voice absent all formality and kindness. “Why is the Barron not here to greet us?”

“He awaits your arrival in the hall,” gestured the mentat. The way ahead is lined with armored Harkonnen soldiers; far from a warming embrace. “This way, if you will.”

The skeptical glance Gurney gave your father only serves to unease you more than you’d prefer. You know that look. You know the two men hold little to no trust for these people. They’re all savages. A race of violent individuals who’ve somehow thrived in their own wickedness.  

Several lifetimes ago, the two of your bloodlines crossed, but it’s hard to image their sinister race could ever be related to the likes of your own. In truth, the Harkonnen’s are the most alien of all the great houses; with their balding heads and pale flesh.

The archives can only tell you their past, but what you see all around is the present. It’s terrifying and with each step you take, you wonder how someone like you could possibly exist in their world. The back of your throat tightens, yet you shift to stand taller as you proceed to walk the grand hallway.

Pride keeps your strong, for now.

Despite the palace’s mega structure, you feel imprisoned within its steel walls; soon to be shackled by a vow. The mentat before you signaled two of the soldiers, bidding them to open the large doors of the hall. The smell of iron and soot wafted into your lungs; tainting them with every breath.

The room itself is expansive and minimalistic; eerily empty despite those occupying its space. The thick stream of light illuminated the foreboding figure which sat on the heightened, cushioned throne. You can hardly believe the sheer mass of the Barron, and yet it’s no kept secret.

“Duke,” spoke the deep voice of the Barron. The hulking man gestured outwardly with his hand, in what one could only presume to be a greeting of sorts. “Here you are – at last."

“We expected to be greeted on arrival,” replied father; clearly unimpressed with our reception to the planet. “We’ve travelled light years – and yet here you sit.”

“And there you stand, Cousin. Do we not greet each other now?”

The tension is palpable, and the seconds of silence feel more so like eternity. The duke’s bitterness hardly went unnoticed, and whilst others would try to correct themselves in fear of their lives, your father remains headstrong. The man's a pure representative of your family’s values, but he forgets.

This is their planet.

These are their rules.

It’s best you learn fast now, lest you shatter. If your family could offer no comfort here within your new life, then that leaves only yourself left to care. As the daughter of a duke and offspring to the sisterhood, your mind and body is its own protection.

The Bene Gesserit have governed you since you were a babe. They’ve showed you things few ever witness. They’ve taught you their ways, and now they’re to be the pillars of both the survival and success of this alliance. You are your only strength and weakness.

Observing the room, there’s only those of your own envoy and the close confidants of the Barron. Particularly, it’s hard to mistake the broad and brooding man standing to the left of his glutenous uncle. Rabban appears stiff, if not livid as he glares distantly at your father.  

Wide fists clench noticeably at his sides, displaying his obvious displeasure of the situation. Rabban can be described as simple minded, but a brute. He uses sheer force to conquer, and for that reason, he’ll gain nothing of any real value. Power is more than strength.

“Come,” spoke the Barron. “I want to see her.”

“Where is he?”

It drew you to realize your father’s pointed absence of the man in question. You’ve only ever known your suiter by name and reputation. Feyd-Rautha. Ambitious and psychotic. You wouldn’t know his face to pick it from the rest.

“Is it your nephew’s intention to insult my daughter, or was he simply not made aware of our arrival?”

The Barron gave a low groan, his tongue tisking against his grey teeth whilst he leant into his throne. A clear sign of impatience. This is the Barron's most inner dominion and so far, your father has only defied his every will and word without hesitation.

Stepping forward, you moved with steady purpose upon your intention to diffuse the rising hostility. Gurney is the first to stop you with an outstretched hand, only for your father to intervene. Despite his reluctance, the duke knows this is an alliance even he can’t afford to break.

Amusement shone in the Barron's eyes upon your willing approach. Ascending the slabbed staircase, you watch as the silk donned man rose eerily from his seat. The mechanical and unnatural elevation of his large body caused you to stop.

“There you are,” he grinned as he hovered closer. “Bold, just like your father.”

The Barron's thick limbs reached out, slowly lifting the veil that sheltered your face. In all these years of residing within each other’s existence, the two of you had never met until now. Gazing up at him, you saw his pale and wrinkled face morph from intrigue to impassive.

He gave a low hum, “And so we meet.”

The way his eyes roam over your face and body feels more analytical, rather than that of a perverse nature. You aren’t entirely sure if he’s disappointed or curious. The room turns silent, and everyone waits with bated breath for what the Barron will do next.

“You’re prettier than I imagined,” he announced. Hovering away from you, he slowly sat himself back onto the cushioned seat of his throne. “No matter the sort, beauty is a rare site to be had on Geidi Prime. It certainly doesn’t last for long.”

“She's to be unharmed,” interjected your father. The protectiveness in his voice is further stated with the underlying hiss of a threat. “As soon as she’s with child, she’s to be escorted back to Caladan.”

“Nonsense!” boomed the Barron. “If your daughter is to marry my nephew, then she’s to remain on Geidi Prime.”

“If?”

Turning, you faced your father to see his angered expression. Despite the intimidating and strange aura of this planet, the site of your father is still apposing. Standing in full uniform, you know with time and familiarity that the duke won’t accept or backdown.

“My nephew can be stubborn. Youth is so often irrational.” Shifting in his seat, the Barron sighed whilst narrowing his gaze. “As suited as she may be, your daughter isn’t the only hand of worth within House Major.”

“I see,” scoffed your father. “Then you’d willingly allow yourself to break law and dishonor the name Harkonnen? The Benne Gess –.”

“Witches and spies!” cursed the Barron. “I’ll not have them dictate the future of my house!”

“And I’ll not have you shame mine! Feyd-Rautha will take my daughters hand in marriage, as agreed. House Atreides holds not only political power, but the largest arsenal in the whole of the empire,” he boasted with intent. “There is no other of worth.”

Immediately, your gaze lowered with his proclamation. It's difficult to hear your father defend your house, whilst also acting to secure a marriage neither of you desire; but he does it for the people. It's his responsibility and your duty, but even still, you can't help but feel betrayed.

“Then you have my word. Let our houses be united once more," smirked the Barron. The mentat was summoned forward, “Piter will escort your daughter to her chambers. I won’t bore her with the concerns of politics."

As quickly as you arrived within the Barron's presence, you were now dismissed from the huge hall. Daughters aren’t privy to such discussions, but you know to what it will most likely pertain. You know there’s terms and conditions to matches as important as this one.

Lowering your veil once again, you headed down the steps to the awaiting mentat; who’s now no longer nameless. Piter walked steadily in lead, and whilst you couldn’t interact with your father in this moment, the two of you locked eyes in passing.

Despite the tragedy of your new circumstance, he'll always have your best interest at heart. At the very least, he’ll fight for your comfort and safety within the confines of your new home. He’d never travel the galaxy, let alone leave you behind if he didn’t think you would be safe.

“This way.”

Piter turned the corner, and soon you felt as if you were being burrowing into the bowls of the abyss. There's no windows this far into the heart of the palace. You’re cut off from all aspects of nature, and all that’s left is a labyrinth of metal and synthetic light; producing a warm yet sterile glow.

“This one’s for you,” he spoke monotonously as we stopped outside of a doorway. “You’ll be called upon later in the evening.”

Piter went to leave before you decided to speak, “Where is he?”

The man showed reluctance before turning to face you. Clasping his hands, those dull eyes stared into you as he asked, “Whom do you refer?”

“What are you, if not calculative?”

The mentat's face shifted at your taunt. Stepping forward, he appeared serious. “The two of you have yet to meet, but certainly enough you will.” Piter waved a hand over the doorway consol. “Embrace what peaceful moments remain.”

A quick turn, and you stood watching as the mentat traversed back down the lengthy corridor. Piter’s words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. It's a warning. Perhaps even a threat. You've heard too much to think it's not.

Despite the sheer vastness of space, it’s whispers which travel the fastest. Feyd-Rautha is a name that’s passed by your ears on more than one occasion. Stories or truth. You’ve heard the court recount his cunningness and brutality.

You've heard him in your dreams.

It bleeds you with fear, and fear is the mind killer.

[ofsappho]

THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani) Part III: Duncan

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

(Note: I invented some stuff/added some new terminology to make up for worldbuilding that didn't happen in canon. If you have questions just send me an ask!)

PART III: DUNCAN

Duncan did not consider himself an unnecessarily stubborn man. Though he was initially wary of including Lady Jessica’s young Bene Gesserit handmaiden in Paul’s combat training, a year had proven that Paul flourished with the addition of a sparring opponent who matched him in strength and size.

One, two, three. His pupils’ current sparring bout played out in front of him in the training room. The sound of each blow and each block echoed off the walls like a heartbeat. “Arms up, Paul.” Duncan cautioned.

At the reminder, the youth straightened up and his gangly arms, now starting to finally bulk out to Paul’s poorly-hidden satisfaction, came up to properly defend his head and torso. His black curls stuck to his forehead with sweat while a fierce expression furrowed his young brow.

That expression brought a fond smile to Duncan’s face. Paul’s father looked like that when he fought.

Since he had added full contact sparring to Paul’s training, Duncan was pleased to note that the boy continued to earn that privilege with his devotion to every lesson. His scrawny charge appeared early in the training room with eagerness written across his open face every day.

Of course, he still got into mischief and roped his companion into it frequently - that was just Paul’s way. His attitude had greatly improved since that final, fateful temper tantrum and since his lady mother enlisted that girl into her household.

At twelve, Paul had begun to settle into the features that Duncan imagined he would retain into adulthood. Though he could hardly match his tutor in stature or build now, he was growing like a weed. The boy would easily be as tall as him one day, if not taller.

He could still remember the squirming little bundle Leto had pressed into his arms mere hours after Paul’s birth. When the infant’s eyes had met his, he saw the same emerald green eyes of the Duke and his father before him. Duncan felt privileged to have been able to watch that baby grow into a capable, earnest boy.

Paul was, in a way, the son of his heart.

Even though he seemed to be growing into the very image of his father, Duncan could see himself in Paul too. When he was only a toddler, Paul did his very best to imitate the swordmaster’s mannerisms. That child had been so sincere that all who saw him couldn’t help but chuckle.

Now, Paul had grown to unconsciously mimic the way Duncan carried himself, the length of his stride, the way he gestured with his hands. There was no better legacy the warrior wished to leave behind than this youth, a true child of the three of them - Leto, Jessica, and Duncan.

He had taken to combat with the same ease his father had, at nearly the same age, the swordmaster thought as he watched with fondness and pride. Paul darted, quick as a hunter-seeker, past Chryse’s strikes only to counter with his own.

That his liege had entrusted Paul’s training to him was a great honor. The boy in front of him, fighting with a keenness much older than his age, could yet match his noble father in excellence. Whether or not Paul would exceed him remained to be seen.

One did not so easily clear the bar set by Leto Atreides. The Ginaz swordmaster remembered how at newly fifteen, coral disk in hand, he had been sent to join Duke Mintor Atreides’ household and accompany his son and heir, na-Duke Leto Atreides. 

His lord had always been different. Leto had been a mere teenager when they first met, itching to prove his might against the Harkonnens in battle, yet he was wise and principled in a way that Duncan had never known.

Ginaz built master swordsmen and tacticians, not people. Not lords.

After their first spar, after the way Leto clasped his hand and pulled him up from the ground after the na-Duke had sent him sprawling, Duncan knew he would follow that man to the edge of the Imperium and beyond.

There might have been shame and failure in defeat at the hands of a different man. There was no shame in his heart when Leto raised him up, as there was no shame in bowing to the might of the wind.

Later that night, Leto had clasped their calloused hands together, and Duncan remembered thinking, he is half of my soul.

Even the Emperor knew of the then na-Duke Leto’s integrity and the effortless way he commanded respect and loyalty. Thufir Hawat, the most fearsome Mentat in the Imperium, had sworn his fealty to Leto as he had to Mintor and Paulos. The legendary bard-warrior, Gurney Halleck, was plucked out of the Harkonnen slave-pits by Leto and pledged his life to him in return.

The Duke earned every ounce of allegiance given to him.

From that first day on, the Ginaz swordmaster knew he would follow House Atreides until the end of his life. For what was glory, if not serving Leto and his family with all Duncan had? To give his life over to the keeper of his soul?

He would die for his lord without question. The Duke knew this and pressed a more difficult task upon the swordmaster - to live for him, should Leto die first, so that Duncan could protect Paul.

One, two, three. The two children danced around each other on the floor mats before Paul pushed Chryse back far enough that she could not reach him without an answering attack that would do real damage. She stopped for a moment, her gaze darting around the room to catalog everything like a Mentat, and waited for Paul to catch his breath.

“Again,” Duncan commanded, his voice harsher than it should be.

A sigh escaped him at the sight of her barely concealed flinch. He really shouldn’t have barked at her like that. Chryse had never done anything to Paul or Duke Leto. Her presence had lifted Paul’s spirits and challenged him to strive further by all accounts, including his own. The retainer watched the children fight a while longer before halting practice for the day. The two of them gathered cups of water and returned to the mat to stretch, Paul’s carefree chatter filling the room.

Duncan had only lived this long through trusting in his instincts. Around Bene Gesserit, his instincts told him that there was something terribly wrong with these women.

All that said, he and Jessica had come to a consensus many years ago over their shared lord and lover. She made Leto happy. When the woman presented his soulmate with a son and heir, the Duke had never been more pleased. Duncan would die to protect that happiness. He would never go so far as to call her a friend, but they were cordial with one another, and he served and protected her as was his duty.

Though it didn’t matter how cordial and respectful she was to the swordmaster or how many smiles she brought to Leto’s face, Duncan trusted any member of her order about as far as he could throw one.

Her little handmaiden unnerved him in the same way they did.

The day Chryse joined her household, Jessica had pulled him aside. He remembered being taken aback by the wild, desperate fear in her eyes. That smooth voice of hers had only the barest quiver when she informed him of the girl that the Imperial truthsayer delivered in-person to Caladan.

At her words, the swordmaster straightened up while one of his hands strayed to the long sword, sheathed at his belt. “Is she going to pose a threat?” He growled out. That truthsayer be damned. The whole Bene Gesserit be damned. He would protect Leto and Paul at any cost.

He counted the time she took to respond in heartbeats. With each beat that passed, ire set deeper into his bones, and he stepped closer to the lady to press for her answer.

Jessica looked away from Duncan to her pale hands as if examining the tendons that lay beneath the skin. In the moment before she answered, her imperious expression twisted into what looked like shame. Duncan blinked, and the guilt was gone so fast, he wondered if he’d imagined it. 

“...No.”

Their gazes met. He trusted her to protect their family. Jessica knew that. While her trepidation alone was enough to mark this unknown girl as a threat in Duncan’s mind, he had faith that Jessica would never let anyone bring harm to House Atreides. To Leto.

Duncan perused her face, looking for any hint of a lie. She seemed truthful enough. “Alright.” He stepped back. That was hardly a satisfactory answer, but Duncan would let it lie as Jessica was indiscernible once more.

She neatly tucked her hands behind her back, out of his sight. “Her name is Chryse. She is to be my handmaiden when she grows older, but for now, I’d like her to accompany Paul to his sparring lessons with you.” Duncan knew Jessica well enough to know when she was giving a command, one framed diplomatically as a request.

The urge to refuse that command was strong, but he instantly understood what she meant under her poised words. Jessica would never jeopardize Paul and Leto by allowing a known threat into their house. This girl was an unknown. Should anything happen under his supervision, Jessica knew he would protect Paul. Duncan did not doubt that she’d arranged other minders for the little handmaiden when he wouldn’t be there.

He would obey his lady’s command, and the two of them would guard Paul against this unknown.

Chryse was quiet, quieter than any child of her age he’d ever known. They had met for the first time when a giddy Paul had dragged her behind him, both to show off his new companion and to seek Duncan’s approval.

She and Jessica shared the same placid countenance that all Bene Gesserit had, a countenance that unnerved him every time he experienced it. The ice in her face only melted when Paul looked to her to ensure her attention during one of his rambles about the latest filmbook he’d seen or when Paul asked her some sort of open-ended question with the bright curiosity of a young child.

When anyone set choices in front of her, the girl seemed overwhelmed and lost. Chryse shied away from decisions, and Paul seemed to enjoy earnestly guiding her through them, even if he hadn’t entirely realized he was doing so. Duncan was grateful Paul didn’t have an ounce of selfishness or ill-intent towards her, for her sake.

There was something wrong with her. The swordmaster was sure of it, and that surety set him on edge. Duncan had observed her during their first lesson - when Chryse fought, Duncan felt that combat was intrinsic to her and required no conscious effort on her part. As if she was constructed instead of raised.

Halleck’s beloved Orange Catholic Bible came to mind. Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.

Hunter-seekers were constructed for combat, too, though those machines had to be operated by someone else, somewhere else. He feared that someone, somewhere, was operating this girl.

Duncan Idaho knew that time was not an enemy, unlike what many other men thought. It was an ally. So he waited, and he watched.

Of course, Duncan had sparred with her himself before so much as letting her near Paul with a bokken. The girl-child didn’t only land one hit - she landed many. She left bruises. For a few moments during the fight, he almost stopped seeing her as a child in his care, not more than ten standard years old. Chryse was another enemy, another Harkonnen or Sardaukar, and Duncan Idaho couldn’t see past that until she was sprawled on the training mat beneath him, the tip of his bokken under her small jaw. One particularly forceful blow and he’d have broken her neck. The child hadn’t responded or whispered a word in protest. She merely continued to look up at Duncan with her large, guileless eyes, like a calf going to slaughter.

In the year since their first meeting, Chryse had managed to put his initial fears to rest. She had a very marked reluctance to physically injure Paul when the two of them sparred and would go out of her way to avoid doing so, even if that action put her at a disadvantage. It frustrated the boy to no end, but Duncan preferred it to the alternative. There were no threats or thwarted assassination attempts from her or anyone else. It seemed like the only people who held Chryse’s reins were them.

But Duncan was not completely heartless. The more time she spent with Paul, the less overwhelmed she seemed. Chryse’s movements were still uncanny, but he watched her slowly become more like a child and less like a weapon, like a winter melted into spring. The girl tended towards a rather endearing wide-eyed naïveté and innocent wonder.

The two of them had grown since their first meeting in directions that complimented the other. Paul wasn’t nearly as restless and dissatisfied as he had been. She grounded him and made him happy in a way the adults in his life simply couldn’t. The boy had continued to guide and nurture her, and Chryse had continued to trust in him enthusiastically. They reminded Duncan of the young vines Jessica tended to in the gardens, intrinsically and unconsciously intertwined as they reached for the sun.

Time was an ally. Duncan had time to continue watching her and ensure she wouldn’t grow into her potential as a threat. Paul had time to grow into his potential as a soldier, a warrior who could defend himself.

A servant appeared in the doorway. “Pardon me, Sir. Lady Jessica requests her handmaiden’s assistance in her presence-chamber.” He nodded his assent quickly and gestured for Chryse to follow after the attendant. The girl hesitated for a moment, seemingly ill at ease. Duncan didn’t miss her unease or the way she tamped down on it with force.

Paul had rounded on Duncan as soon as she’d left without a backward glance, endearingly chattering on about their lesson. “I think I did better today with the grappling? I’m trying-” For the moment, the swordmaster would put away his concerns, and he turned his attention to the boy in front of him.

Paul attempted to duck away from Duncan’s hand but failed to avoid a fond ruffle of his dark hair. “You did well, Paul.” The retainer didn’t give out empty praise - Duncan knew his honesty would benefit Paul the most. Chryse was unnervingly quick at picking up the forms and throws she learned, but Paul even now had a bright mind that could anticipate her moves in advance and adjust instantly to compensate. He had an innate control of every spar; there again, Duncan could see Leto in him. 

“I’m proud of you.”

Paul stopped short at his words. He looked then like the small child Paul had been, a child who clung to Duncan’s every word and often looked for his approval and attention. Before he could respond, the tutor continued. “Listen to me. I know you know that one day, you must be Duke Atreides. To you, that seems far away and impossible right now.” Duncan could see Paul’s uncertainty whenever his future as the Duke was brought up as clear as day, for all of the boy’s feigned confidence and maturity.

The Dukedom was his by right of birth. But the potential and capability to be a great man, a great leader, a great Duke; that was all Paul. No great ancestor or accomplished relative could have given Paul that. While the boy didn’t have an inherently boastful or vain temperament, Paul lacked true confidence in spades. Without it, he would fail.  “I have never lied to you, and I do not intend to start now. When that time comes, you will be deserving of it. I promise you.”

The boy grew somber at the weight behind Duncan’s words, and his green eyes stayed fixed on the man’s face.

The Harkonnens circled ever closer, their military might backed by the obscene riches they drained from Arrakis. 

At the emperor’s command, Leto had been called before the Landsraad that week to negotiate a dispute between their quadrant and an adjacent quadrant.

The Great Houses under Leto’s jurisdiction as Warden of Centaurus Quadrant had risen against the Great Houses of Bode Quadrant. The skirmishes grew bloodier by the day. If House Atreides could not keep the peace, the emperor wouldn’t hesitate to strip them of the wardenship. Padishah Shaddam IV looked for every chance to undermine Leto.

The moment they finished in the training room, Duncan planned to head straight to the war chamber to coordinate the deployment of Atreides troops to the many planets under their dominion, under Leto’s orders. Ideally, they would halt the bloodshed entirely, but judging from the most recent intelligence from Hawat, protracted disputes were the more realistic outcome.

As sheltered as his childhood was, Paul had only known peace. Duncan did not doubt that peace would be in shorter supply when the boy reached the age of majority. Dukehood was his right, and Paul needed to know it. Belief in that right was all that stood between him and his possible destruction.

Paul straightened up under Duncan’s gaze. “Leading our House is your right, Paul. It is what you are owed. You need to own it.” Steel settled in the boy’s gaze, and Duncan grew pleased at the sight of it. Paul would take his words to heart.

When Paul responded, his voice seemed to echo off the walls with a gravity that far outstripped his age. “I understand.” There were still a million and one different ways the boy could falter, and hundreds of thousands of other factors that might end their House. 

But the youth standing before him wore an expression of ancient understanding, some otherworldly wellspring of memory and experience. There was no reasonable explanation for how Paul had come to that understanding right here, right now, but it was so intrinsic that Duncan didn’t question it at the moment.

The moment between them passed, and the peculiar awareness that had taken over this twelve-year-old boy went with it. What in the Imperium had just happened?

As if nothing odd had occurred, Paul bowed as he always did at the end of sparring lessons. “May I be excused?” Duncan silently nodded and watched as Paul dashed from the room, no doubt in search of his mother or Gurney Halleck, or off to his room to put on another one of those filmbooks he liked so much.

The swordmaster had felt the same distinctive unease around Paul that he felt around Bene Gesserit. Duncan knew how to pick his battles, though, and the boy seemed fine and, most importantly, safe enough. Under Jessica’s careful eye, Paul was not likely to harm himself somehow with… whatever that was. It would suffice for now, and later Duncan would press Jessica into a conversation about what sort of alien mess her religious cult had undoubtedly dragged Paul into. While he didn’t have any proof those witches were involved, it seemed highly unlikely that they didn’t have anything to do with it.

If he needed to guard Paul against himself, he would do it. Right now, though, Duncan had a more pressing priority of holding the quadrant together so Leto could return from the Landsraad safely and in victory.

He could feel a headache building behind his eyes. With a resigned sigh, Duncan left the training room.

Ah yes the iconic queer dynamic of "lord and the knight who would die for him and the lord's lady)

Tagging: @redskull199987@itsemy01@blahzaiblahsheep@herebereblogs @spacenotwar @assorted-fandom-things @hogwartshouse @mylenne-16

[molluskwritesfic]

Black Herons - Ch. 8

Masterlist - Ao3 - First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Taglist: @sanfransolomitatm @karolajnx0yep @joossieisdabomb @slyterinstuff

A/N: Six months is a ridiculously long time to write 20 pages. But here we are.

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides I x Fem!OC (slow burn)

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Chapter Eight: Lovers’ Paradigm

Part Two

House Nastaran had fallen.

The dawn sky charred. The endless prairie burned.

Trine Nastaran tucked herself deeper into the wardrobe. The comforting scent of her father’s clothes almost smothered that of smoke.

Almost.

She was eight years old. Just old enough to remember when the She-Wolf of the Badb had been a bedtime story. A joke, really. No more than a curiosity wreaking havoc on the other side of the planet. Before long, it was something the grownups whispered about when they thought she couldn’t hear. Now, it was Trine’s reality.

She-Wolf of the Badb. Dowager Countess. Rhiannon the Conqueror.

Many names for a hero. Many names for a nightmare.

The door of the wardrobe clattered open, and Trine found herself looking up into the panicked face of her governess. Sweat darkened the loose hairs that had flown wild and plastered them to her cheeks. Usually, the sight of the woman who had all but raised her was a comfort to Trine, but now the feral look in the old woman’s eyes frightened her more than ever.

“We have to go.” The governess hissed, snagging a coat off the rack above Trine’s head and tugging it on the young girl’s thin arms. “Quickly now. No time for tears.”

She hadn’t realized that she had been crying. Trine scrubbed the sleeve of the coat across her face and smeared it with snot. It was her father’s coat. It hung comically off her tiny frame.

No matter. The governess grabbed her upper arm in a death grip and dragged her into the next room—her father’s bedchambers.

Once inside, the governess spun her around so they were face to face.

“Where is it?” She demanded. “Show me!”

When Trine couldn’t find her voice, the governess gave her a sharp shake. Fresh tears rolled down her face, but she pointed to the wall behind her parent’s bed.

The governess hurried forward and fumbled around until she found the switch disguised as an imperfection in the paint. The wall swung in, and the governess wasted no time in dragging Trine through it.

The secret passages hidden within the Nastaran ancestral home were dark, but they didn’t dare try to find a light. Trine hurried blindly—guided only by her governess, who was in turn guided only by her hand pressed against the curve of the wall—as the carefully crafted stone of the house shifted to smooth bedrock.

The deeper they went, the colder it became. Trine drew her father’s coat tighter around her. She knew better than to complain.

Ironians didn’t fear the cold.

The thought of her father caused tears to spring back into her eyes. She hallucinated wildly in the inky darkness, assaulted by images of her family and the echoes of their laughter.

Her father’s hands, worn and rough. Her oldest brother teaching her to ride. The younger, stuffing his face with pudding, bulging his cheeks like a bark weasel just to make her laugh.

They were all she had ever known.

By now, they were all certainly dead.

Trine was young, but she knew the way these things worked. And the She-Wolf of the Badb was not known for mercy. The Nastaran bloodline was to be sponged from existence and its assets absorbed into the Dering war machine.

Heirs to the Nastaran title—sons with vengeance in their hearts and a legitimate claim to conquered lands—would not be tolerated.

Trine’s brothers—aged only sixteen and twelve—would not be allowed to survive. Even if they did somehow escape as Trine had, they would be hunted down. The Countess was very thorough.

A daughter, though, might be overlooked.

Trine knew that this was why her governess had come for her only, even though she loved Trine’s brothers as her own sons. Had raised and taught them for most of their lives.

That was the harsh reality of it. The price of saving her brothers would mean being hunted, and one child was better than none.

Freezing water splashed on their shoes as Trine and her governess plunged deeper into the darkness, driven by fear and the promise of light.

Trine stayed silent. Her tears cooled on her cheeks.

Ironians weren’t afraid of the cold.

Paul was quick and light on his feet, but Duncan was easily three times his size, and the sword was heavy.

Duncan’s shield shimmered as Paul’s sword skimmed harmlessly across it. After months of training with knives, the Atreides Weapons Master had decided it was time for the young Lord to start learning how to handle larger—and decidedly heavier—weapons.

“Keep your guard up, boy,” Duncan encouraged, holding his own sword easily in one hand. He demonstrated the correct height to hold the blade, keeping it level across his chest.

With shaking hands, Paul did his best to copy the stance. He knew that building strength was one of the points of this exercise—that he would struggle with it until he didn’t—but they’d been working for only ten minutes, and he was already exhausted.

He did his best to apply some of his mother’s training—steady his breathing, slow his heartbeat—with only moderate success. Bene Gesserit techniques were hard enough to master during quiet meditation; during combat training, it was near impossible.

Then again, he was only eight years old.

Duncan kept his moves slow and predictable, giving Paul time to get accustomed to the unfamiliar weight of a longer blade. They ran through a few basic forms, and Paul practiced a little with swinging and blocking.

By the time Duncan called an end to the session, Paul’s arms were made of jelly. He felt good, though. Accomplished.

Duncan was pleased as well.

“You’re off to a good start, lad. You’ll be the finest fighter in the Imperium before you know it.” His gaze shifted to something behind Paul. “Wouldn’t you agree, M’Lady?”

Paul turned to see Lady Rhiannon standing by the door, leaning back against the wall with her arms crossed nonchalantly against her chest.

He hadn’t noticed her come in, which was surprising in itself. Even more so since Paul hadn’t seen her much of late. Like his father, Rhiannon had been consumed by the preparations for the upcoming trip to Ahmes.

Lady Rhiannon tilted her head in consideration.

“You’ve got impressive reflexes, Paul. That’s very good. You’re over-committing to the swings a bit, but that’s an easy fix.” The smile she gave him was full of warmth. “Yes, you’ll make a fine warrior some day.”

Touched by the sincerity behind her words, Paul ducked his head shyly and thanked her.

Duncan twirled his sword experimentally, not at all tired from the same exercise that had exhausted Paul so thoroughly. He pointed at Lady Rhiannon with the blade.

“And that’s from one of the finest fighters to ever be produced by one of the Houses of Iro. Trained by a Ginaz Swordmaster, too. It’s a high compliment, lad.”

Paul perked up. He hadn’t known that. “You were trained by a Swordmaster?”

The Duchess smiled wistfully.

“Alecto Ivaylo. I miss him, the ornery old fart.”

“I didn’t know Swordmasters were hired to train Highborn Ladies.”

“It’s not common,” Duncan explained, “but on Iro, assassins are. When your children are always at risk, it’s better to prepare them early.”

Lady Rhiannon sniffed.

“A daughter dies just as easily as a son. All children should know how to wield a blade.”

“I’m starting to find that I agree.” Duncan leveled his sword at the Duchess of Caladan challengingly. “Care to demonstrate?”

Paul would have thought that any Lady with a title would look strange with a sword, but there was a gleam in Lady Rhiannon’s eyes that told him he was very wrong. Restlessness. Bloodlust.

He looked to his stepmother hopefully.

Rhiannon smiled.

She looked so graceful and formal in her daywear, but as she strode across to the weapon rack, Paul could imagine the intentionality that was hidden behind the thing she wore; the chiffon and silk jumpsuit was loose enough for free movement, form fitting enough to not get in the way. She kicked off her expensive shoes, and beneath them were slippers with gripped soles.

The sword she chose was of medium size. She tested the balance. Nodded her satisfaction.

Duncan bounced on his toes, impatient. “Shields or not, M’Lady?”

“Not. I don’t believe in shields.”

“As you wi—”

Rhiannon attacked. Hard.

Duncan barely fended off her first volley, immediately on the defensive. Rhiannon was fast. Vicious. Her last few months had been filled with bureaucracy, and she had a lot of energy to burn.

Duncan recovered quickly from his initial surprise, and was equally quick to match her ferocity.

The room was filled with the ringing of steel on steel. He pushed forward, striking high and forcing her back a few steps.

Rhiannon twisted to the side. Danced under his arm to get under his guard. Duncan adjusted to the tactic, stepping back again to leave some room between them.

Paul, who had retreated to watch from a safe distance, could almost believe that this was a real fight. To him, at least, it looked as if each swing of Rhiannon’s sword was intended as a killing blow. But Lady Rhiannon was a skilled swordsman, and could be trusted not to cause harm unless she wanted to do so.

Although Duncan was similarly skilled, he seemed to be erring on the side of caution. Training scars were not uncommon, even at the most advanced levels.

It would take a braver man than him to accidentally mark a Duchess.

Rhiannon, though, wasn’t having it.

When Duncan hesitated, missing out on a swing that chanced coming too close to her face, she rewarded him by ramming the hilt of her sword into his stomach.

Duncan doubled over, winded. Between one blink and the next, Rhiannon had disarmed him. She stood over him, the tip of her blade hovering in front of his nose, eyes sparking with annoyance.

“I’m not here to be trained by you, Swordmaster. Treat me as an equal, or you are useless to me.”

The Swordmaster stared along the keen edge of the blade. His face cracked with a sheepish grin.

“Yes, M’Lady.”

Rhiannon held there for a second longer to get her point across, then stepped away to give him space to rise.

“Again.”

With the late afternoon light streaming in through the window, and Leto’s hand trailing lazily across her bare ribs, Jessica could almost pretend that nothing had changed.

She had slept in this room, in this bed, for the better part of ten years. The sound of Leto breathing beside her was more familiar to her than that of her own. But their current physical closeness wasn’t enough to cross the emotional gulf that yawned between them.

“Move back in with me.”

The request was so quiet, so hopeful, that she almost said yes out of instinct. Jessica’s heart twisted, and she sat up.

“You know I can’t.”

Leto sat up on his elbows, looked as if he wanted to reach out to draw her back against him.

Jessica almost wished that he would.

“I don’t see why you need your own room.”

“You know why.”

Jessica slipped out from underneath the sheets and bent to collect her discarded clothes from the floor. Distantly, she realized that they were doing the same thing; they both hid their pain—him with his frustration, her with her cold distance—while pretending that they didn’t miss each other desperately.

“I’ve told you why,” she went on. “You don’t listen.”

“And I’ve told you. The Duchess doesn’t care.” In this room, she was always the Duchess—never Rhia. “She has her lovers to keep her company. What we keep between us is of no concern to her.”

She wanted to shout at him, You still aren’t listening!

She busied herself with dressing, instead.

“I know you don’t like her,” Leto tried to reason. He sat up and swung his legs off the bed. “Has she done anything to upset you? If she has, please tell me.”

“This isn’t about like,” Jessica responded coldly.

“What, then?”

Things were changing around Castle Caladan; Jessica’s Bene Gesserit trained senses were picking up on patterns—new people in the castle, coming and going, fulfilling roles that couldn’t entirely be explained. She didn’t have access to enough of the documentation to prove it, but she was sure that it went farther than Castle Caladan—off world exports, transportation, immigration, and trade—threads woven through every aspect of House Atreides and it’s holdings, forming an elaborate spider web with the Duchess Atreides at the center.

Leto strongly distrusted the Sisterhood. Disliked them for their manipulative ways. If Jessica told him everything she knew, he would demand to know her source. After that, he wouldn’t believe her anyway.

“Do you not find it odd,” Jessica started slowly, choosing her words with great care, “that the Duchess was not presented to you until after the engagement was final?”

“I… didn’t ask to meet her sooner.”

Leto was frowning, but Jessica heard the uncertainty in his voice and knew that she had touched a nerve.

“But it was strange, yes?” Jessica pressed. “Almost as if they were making the arrangements in secret.”

There was a moment where Leto’s brow furrowed. Jessica watched as he turned it over in his mind, hoping against hope that he would connect the dots and draw his own conclusions.

“We… considered the possibility that they may have had reasons to keep her hidden. Insanity or eccentricity, maybe.” Then the moment passed. Leto’s face hardened. “But we were wrong. Lady Rhiannon has proven herself to be a fine, capable woman. I haven’t had doubts about that for a long time.”

Jessica thought of a snake on the first day of spring. Slowly uncoiling after months of frozen sleep. Stretching out, reviving itself on rocks warmed by the sun.

The Duchess had been sleeping, but there were signs that she was waking up.

“Were they hiding her from you?” Jessica’s voice was low with urgency. “Or was it you they were hiding from her?”

“Am I supposed to know what that means?”

“How much do you know about her, truly? She walks in blood and shadows, and it is a mistake to assume that she has our best interests at heart.”

The shutters slammed shut on Leto’s expression, and Jessica knew in that moment that she had lost him.

“Jealousy is unbecoming of you Jessica,” he said coolly. “And I have to say, trying to sew dissent between the Duke and Duchess of Caladan is beneath you.”

“I only mean to say,” Jessica managed to keep her voice calm and even, “that perhaps you allowed yourself to trust her too quickly.”

“Is that it?” Leto demanded. “You don’t trust her? Why?”

“Why do you?” She shot back.

Leto blinked, dumbfounded. As if not-trusting her had never occurred to him. “She’s my wife.”

It would always come back to that, wouldn’t it? She turned her back on him. “And I am not.”

Hurt flickered across his handsome features. “You have my love, Jessica. And you always will. Is that not enough?”

She glanced back at him and thought, I have your love, but I have never had your trust.

Jessica left the room.

A box was waiting for Jessica when she returned to her chambers. It was very large—about two feet wide and three feet tall—and made of highly polished wood. Intricate patterns ran along the framework, the swirling shapes of great predators and human figures wielding blades. Distinctly Ironian.

Jessica circled the box warily. There was a folded piece of stationery attached to the top. A note. Handwritten.

It read:

Sorry for being an ass.

~Rhia

Alarmed, Jessica stepped back from the box on instinct. The note implied a gift, but what reasons did the Duchess have for giving her anything? She was suddenly hyper aware of how easily this could be some kind of trick. Would the Duchess dare give her something that could cause her harm? Not this directly, surely. Not with her name on a note and Ironian designs on the wood. Lady Atreides was too smart for that.

Jessica wasn’t completely convinced, but knew that she didn’t have much choice. The box was held closed by a gold latch on the lid—wlysteel, she noted—which triggered the sound of mechanisms tumbling from within. Jessica was almost surprised when the top of the box slid open, instead of exploding or emitting some kind of poison. She was glad that she was alone, because she wouldn’t have wanted anyone to hear her quiet gasp when she saw what was inside.

There were many valuable natural resources found in the mines on Iro. Some were sought after for their usefulness—the steel, coal, salt, and such—others, for their rarity. Diamonds, sapphires, and rubies, to name a few. But there were others considered far more precious, so rare that they could only be found on Iro, and nowhere else in the universe.

Viimatar was a very rare, very beautiful crystal that formed within iridescent geodes—usually near veins of quartz or coal. They were so rare, in fact, that the only specimen owned by a Landsraad family, outside those who had spent generations on the planet, was that of the Emperor. Jessica had never seen viimatar before, but knew from readings about Iro that a single geode was generally about the size of an apple. The viimatar before her was roughly the size of a human head.

And oh, was it beautiful. The watery sunlight that came through her chamber windows passed through the translucent crystal, setting its jagged interior ablaze and casting the room in a myriad of colors. Every hue imaginable, glowing and shimmering and melting together in pools of light dancing across the walls.

It took Jessica a few moments to collect herself enough to tear her eyes away from the priceless gift. Tucked into the box beside the geode was a small parcel made of black velvet. Beside that, another letter.

She opened the parcel first. Gold coins fell shimmering into her palm, and she recognized the sharp glint of more wlysteel. They were smooth and thin, each embellished with a delicate carving of a heron on one side. More Ironian craftsmanship.

Putting the coins aside, she unfolded the letter and began to read:

In the religious teachings of the Old Ironian Gods, each person has not one face, but many—one face to wear for every person we meet throughout our lifetimes. The face we wear for our children is not the same one we wear for our parents, nor are either of those the same as the face we show to our lovers, our friends, our teachers, or our servants. Every face is different, but all are true, and it is the combination of these truths that make us who we are.

When I was choosing a face for you, Jessica, I chose incorrectly. For that, I sincerely apologize.

Over breakfast, I told you that I thought complete honesty between us was the best way to confront our situation. I still believe that. But it wasn’t fair of me to demand vulnerability and offer none in return. Unfortunately, my most successful relationships tend to be political. For those of a more personal nature, I tend to come up short.

Another point of interest: My maternal grandmother was the daughter of a Vidar Chieftain. My Dweller heritage is very important to me, and I observe as many of their ways as I can.

In the bag, you’ll find twelve gold coins. They are called forseti—wlysteel tokens from the forge of Clan Vidar. Coins of Truth, in the Dwellers’ tongue. They are often used when an outsider joins a Clan, or sometimes to resolve quarrels. The outsider brings forseti from their home forge and gives them to members of the Clan they wish to join. The Clan members will then give the forseti back to the new member, and ask a question. The new member is then honorbound to answer the question with absolute truth.

A coin for a truth. I have given you twelve.

Twelve forseti. Twelve questions. Twelve truths.

Of course, you have no reason to trust that I will abide by the Dweller code of honor. Although I have Dweller blood, I am not one. I don’t believe in gods, so I am not compelled by the Old Ironian Gods to answer truthfully. But I have no control of that. As a Bene Gesserit, I trust you will rely on your instincts and observation. All I ask for is your consideration.

~Rhia

Puzzled, Jessica sank down into a nearby chair to read the letter again. She stayed there for a long time, watching the patterns of light and color play lazily along the walls, thinking.

The relationship between wolves and ravens was a strange one. The ravens acted as the wolf's eyes, and the wolf provided meat. Ancient, divine mutualism in action.

At the old fortress of Valley Keep, the ravens were circling. Viggo knew that the wolf couldn't be far behind.

Usually, Viggo didn't mind the ravens. When the soldiers of the Badb were this comfortable occupying his home, it meant that Rhiannon was either also there, or would be soon.

There had been a time where he had looked forward to his lover's visits. At the beginning of the war, when the fighting had been in neighboring lands, he had seen her often. As the fifth son of House Taryn, which had submitted rather than fight, becoming the lover of the fearsome general was an acceptable way to broker influence where he otherwise would have had none.

And in all honesty, he had enjoyed the attention; had sorely been missing it - and her - since the war had drawn her away to the far reaches of the planet.

But then an old friend had arrived at his doorstep, ragged and begging to be taken in, and Viggo hadn't been able to refuse.

Eldon Vish was a good natured man ambling his way through his seventies. Good natured. Funny. Worthy of sympathy.

Many years ago, when Viggo was young, House Taryn had been an ally of House Nastaran. Eldon, a Nastaran advisor, had been the kind old man to take pity on the bored, lonely Viggo who had been dragged halfway across the planet just to be ignored while his father and older brothers played politics.

Viggo had never met his grandfather, but he liked to think that he would’ve been something like Eldon. Someone that would’ve taught him to play chess and told exciting stories while pretending not to notice the boy sneaking sips from his mug of ale.

Years had passed since those days, but Viggo still held them close to his chest.

Had it been an ordinary refugee, or even just an average enemy soldier, Viggo knew that Rhiannon wouldn't care. But it wasn't either, and therefore suicide.

Viggo hadn't seen Rhiannon in months. She had other lovers — enough of them for it to not be entirely unreasonable to think she had forgotten about him entirely. And it was that distance, and perhaps just a touch of jealousy, that had made him feel secure enough to take such a foolish risk.

But what was done was done. Now, the only thing that mattered was keeping both himself and Eldon alive.

Viggo strode purposefully through the halls of Valley Keep, trying very hard to not look panicked — maybe just as if he had important, normal business to attend to. Fifth son or not, he was still responsible for a great deal of his family's finances, and was typically very busy.

Viggo let himself into the room he had loaned to Eldon without knocking and was quick to lock it behind him.

"We don't have much time," Viggo said briskly, seeing that Eldon was still sitting at the small table with his half-eaten lunch. "There's a ground car waiting for you by the servant's entrance. If you leave now -- "

Blood.

So much blood.

Viggo dropped to his knees, his throat full of bile. Far too late, he realized that Eldon's corpse had not been the room's only occupant.

"You didn't have to kill him," Viggo protested weakly. "He was old. He wasn't a threat to you."

Rhiannon idly flicked through another page of Eldon's journals, hardly deigning to glance at him from where she sat at the room's tiny desk.

"The elderly have as much, if not more, influence than their successors," she said coolly. "You know that as well as anyone."

Viggo slumped forward as he felt all the fight drain out of him. "I'm sorry."

Rhiannon shot him a look. Viggo wished that there was anger in it. Betrayal. But it was worse than that. There was only annoyance. Boredom.

His heart broke. Viggo had shown that he was willing to get in her way, and he couldn't even do it in a way that mattered.

He was the fifth son. Nothing he had ever done in his life had mattered.

Despite the lingering bitterness, the thought of his family sent a spike of panic down his spine.

"It was just me," he said hurriedly. "No one helped me.”

"I know."

Of course she did.

"How did you find out?"

Rhiannon shot him another unimpressed look.

Viggo eased himself slowly to his feet. He tried not to look at Eldon's body. Failed. Viggo looked back to Rhiannon. "I loved you, you know."

She turned another page. "That isn't my fault."

Something cold pressed against Viggo's back. Pressed into his back between his shoulder blades. Not the direction he had expected his death to come from.

Viggo reached around behind him. His fingers bumped against something hard, but it was the wrong angle for him to grab it. He knew the wetness he felt was his own blood. There was no pain, which he supposed was a small mercy.

He glared at Rhiannon reproachfully as his vision swam. Not important enough for her to do it herself, then.

As his legs finally gave out and he slumped to the floor, he got a look at his murderer. The face was achingly familiar, and his heart broke all over again.

Chantria.

He tried to gasp his sister's name, but no sound came out. The raven tattoo on her forearm, dark with new ink, answered all his questions anyway.

Chantria knelt beside him. She fixed him with a look of sympathy, but there was no regret.

"I'm sorry," she said, lightly touching her fingers to his forehead. "But someone has to look out for our family's interests."

I'm family too, was the last thought Viggo had before he succumbed to swirling darkness.

I'm family too.

In theory, the Duke and Duchess’s departure from Caladan was a quiet affair, especially when compared to the pomp and grandeur that went into similar occasions hosted by other houses. In reality, it was as politically charged as any event of state.

Even if it was only by pilots, guards, and workmen, the senior members of House Atreides were being watched—and as loved as they were by the people they ruled, by nature, those people loved gossip more. 

So when they said their farewells, Jessica dressed nice and smiled warmly at Leto, regardless of the tension still lingering between them. Leto kissed the back of her hand, his eyes lined with sadness and regret, even though he wore a smile of his own. 

If Jessica wanted to keep her family safe from the She-wolf of the Badb, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Lady Rhiannon was as lovely as ever, dressed in a delicate silver outfit that she had changed into only a few minutes before, having only just returned from paying her lover in the village one last visit.  She would likely change out of again once they were safely on board. 

Onlookers were eager for signs of drama between the Duchess and the Duke’s lover, but Jessica knew that, despite their differences, she and Rhiannon would not give them any. 

Rhiannon touched Jessica’s elbow lightly. Their eyes met, and Rhiannon’s gaze was unflinchingly open. Jessica was confused by the calm patience held in her expression. The gift, as well as the proposal, had gone unmentioned.

Jessica’s mind was still spinning. There was an opportunity here, if she had the courage to seize it.

The Bene Gesserit had infiltrated almost every house in the Imperium. They warmed the beds of noblemen; they mothered their children; they nudged history in the ways the Sisterhood wanted.

In this way, lonely men were easy to manipulate. They needed lovers. Confidants. The Sisters of the Bene Gesserit were trained to excel at both.

Rhiannon was dangerous, but so were many of the noblemen of the Imperium. Who was to say that Jessica couldn’t get close to Rhiannon in the same way? 

She thought it might be possible, now that she knew that the Duchess had a taste for women as well as men. Risky, yes. But possible.

Very risky.

Dare she even try?

She needed time to think.

Thankfully, she had just that. The Duke and Duchess’ absence would allow her both the time to think and space to start formulating a plan.

Leto held Paul close to his chest. He whispered something into his son’s ear that made the boy smile. Rhiannon rested a hand lightly on Paul’s shoulder, quirking an eyebrow at Khrysos, who peeked out at her from Paul’s collar. 

Rhiannon’s proposition had given her a good starting point. She would have to use her questions wisely.

Jessica wrapped her arm around her son’s shoulders, hugging him protectively to her side while they watched the Ducal yacht ease off the tarmac and away from Caladan. 

She thought that Paul noticed her unease. He looked up at her questioningly, but her only response was to hold him tighter.

It was worth the risk.

[strayrockette]

The Dragon & The Griffon: The Ripple in the Path

The Dragon & The Griffon: Where the Path Leads- A Taste, The Beginning of the Path

Summary: Takes place a week and 1 month after Irene Atreides gives birth to Amina Targaryen.

Warnings: Bene Gesserit schemes, mentions of death, foreboding feelings, unease, tense environments, and a simple planet named Draconis (hehe my brain hurt too much to come up with a more complex name for the Targaryen planet, so do not come for me please ❤️😂)

A/N: This took a while to write. There were a lot of ideas and so much to filter through. Not to mention getting the details right or making it feel seamless. Hope you enjoy! ❤️ Revised 9/7/2024, 9/9/2024

The Reverend Mother's Unease - A Week After Irene’s Passing - Reverend Mother’s Chambers

The dimly lit chamber of the Reverend Mother was thick with the heavy scent of incense, its smoky tendrils curling around the ancient stone walls and faded tapestries. Each breath pulled the weight of the room deeper into her lungs, mingling the aromas of burning resins, candle wax, and a hint of spice. Seated in her high-backed chair, the Reverend Mother’s eyes were half-closed, her face calm and inscrutable as if carved from the very stone surrounding her. But beneath her composed exterior, a flicker of unease simmered, hidden yet unmistakable.

The silence of the room was broken by the creak of the chamber door. An emissary entered, his steps careful and his face drawn, shadows stretching behind him in the flickering light. He bowed deeply, his voice strained as he delivered his news. “Reverend Mother, urgent word from Draconis. Lady Irene has given birth to a child—a daughter of House Targaryen. And… all the sisters sent with her have been killed.”

The Reverend Mother’s expression did not waver, but the atmosphere in the room thickened, charged with tension. She remained silent, letting the words sink in. Irene’s mission had been unequivocal: infiltrate House Targaryen and eradicate its last remnants. Instead, Irene had not only failed but had birthed a child of Targaryen blood, and the sisters sent to ensure the mission’s success were all dead. A chilling ripple of unease coursed through the Reverend Mother. The implications were vast and dangerous.

She drew a slow, measured breath, her senses reaching out into the vast, unseen currents of the universe. A faint shiver ran through her, a sensation that was neither fear nor surprise but a deeper, more unsettling awareness—an understanding that something fundamental had shifted, altering the fabric of fate itself. There was a disturbance, an ancient power stirring that she could not yet fully grasp, and it was tied to the birth of this unexpected child.

Her gaze turned to the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls, each thread a silent testament to the Bene Gesserit’s long, calculated rise to power. But now, the once-familiar patterns seemed to writhe and shift in the dim light, vibrating with a dissonance that mirrored her inner turmoil. House Targaryen, nearly extinguished, had defied them. This was not just a failure; it was a harbinger of a larger, more perilous struggle.

“How did the sisters die?” she asked, her voice sharp and controlled, though a shadow of anger tinged her words.

The emissary hesitated, his eyes darting nervously. “It was swift and precise. The reports are conflicting, but it seems as though the planet itself rose against them. A force beyond what we anticipated… something ancient.”

The Reverend Mother’s eyes narrowed. The sisters sent to Draconis were among the best, their loyalty and skills beyond question. Their deaths were not just a setback but a sign that House Targaryen had defenses they could not have foreseen. Worse, the birth of this child—whose name was still unknown—was an ominous twist, a new variable in a game the Bene Gesserit had thought they controlled.

She summoned her closest advisors, who entered the chamber with urgency, their faces etched with concern. They bowed before her, sensing the gravity of the situation. “We cannot allow this to derail our plans,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the tension. “Increase surveillance. Strengthen our networks. This child must be watched at all costs. We are dealing with a resurgence that is more than a mere complication—it is a threat to everything we have built.”

The advisors nodded, retreating swiftly to carry out her orders. Left alone, the Reverend Mother stared at the dying embers in the braziers, her mind racing with calculations. The unknown daughter of Irene Atreides and Daeylor Targaryen posed a threat unlike any they had faced before—a convergence of power and bloodlines that could tip the balance of the universe itself.

She could feel the tremors of change deep in her bones. This child’s birth was not a mere defiance of their plans but a declaration of something far more profound. The Bene Gesserit would need to act with swift and unyielding force to contain this threat before it consumed them all. For now, the Reverend Mother did not know the child's name, but she knew that whatever it was, it carried with it a legacy that could not be ignored.

The Message Arrives - Caladan, Duke Leto’s Study - A Month After Irene’s Passing

Duke Leto Atreides sat in his study, surrounded by dark wood and the quiet dignity of a room steeped in tradition. Maps and books lined the walls, their edges flickering in the muted glow of candlelight. The restless sea beyond the stained glass windows mirrored his turbulent thoughts. The heavy oak door creaked open, and a messenger entered, his expression grim. He approached with a deep bow, the gravity of his message evident in every line of his posture.

“Duke Leto,” the messenger began, voice tight. “I bring word from Draconis. Your sister, Lady Irene, has passed… but not before giving birth to a daughter of House Targaryen.”

Leto’s fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair, the wood creaking under the sudden pressure. Rising slowly, he moved as if bracing against a heavy weight. The usual quiet hum of the study felt stifling, each breath dense with the unspoken loss. Irene’s absence hit like a cold wind, stripping the room of its familiar warmth.

He stared into the crackling fire, flames dancing with a restless energy that mirrored the storm brewing within him. Irene’s death was a wound he had not anticipated—more than just a loss, it was a fracture in the foundation of House Atreides. Yet amid the grief, a spark remained: Irene had left behind a daughter, a merging of Atreides and Targaryen blood.

Leto moved to the map of the universe, his gaze tracing the lines that connected Caladan to distant, hostile worlds. The implications of his sister’s child swirled in his mind. This was no ordinary birth; it was a bridge between two powerful but isolated houses. Where others might see danger, Leto saw potential—an uncharted path that could redefine alliances and power.

The Targaryens, formidable and fiercely independent, had long been a looming presence. But now, with the birth of Irene’s daughter, they were no longer untouchable. Leto knew this was a chance to shift the balance, to turn an unpredictable situation into an advantage for House Atreides. He crossed to his desk, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment, the quill scratching across the surface as he penned his thoughts with urgency.

He crafted his words carefully, expressing grief for his sister’s loss while hinting at the possibility of a future bound by shared blood. This was not just an offer of condolence—it was a proposal for dialogue, a subtle yet unmistakable gesture toward a potential alliance. Leto’s mind worked like a seasoned strategist, weighing every phrase, every implication, setting the stage for a new chapter.

Sealing the letter with the Atreides sigil, Leto summoned the messenger, watching as the wax cooled, solidifying his intentions. As the letter was whisked away, he returned to his chair, eyes fixed on the fire. The flames seemed to flicker with renewed purpose, reflecting his resolve.

Leto’s thoughts turned inward, assessing the risks. The Targaryens were known for their pride and suspicion, and any overture could be met with defiance. But Leto was no stranger to navigating perilous waters. This was more than just a personal loss; it was an opportunity to turn the tides in favor of his house. Irene’s daughter, a living symbol of both families, could be the key to a future where House Atreides thrived, not just through power but through unexpected unity.

As the fire crackled softly, Leto made a silent vow: to honor his sister by forging ahead, transforming potential threat into opportunity. House Atreides had always been adaptable, and resilient in the face of shifting sands. Now, with this new connection to House Targaryen, Leto saw the future clearly—a path lit by the unyielding flame of his family’s will and the promise that Irene’s legacy would not fade into darkness.

A/N: if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you’d like to be tagged just shoot a comment and ask! Please comment your thoughts, like and reblog ❤️❤️

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen, @mysticalpandora, @storiesfromafan

[cletimz]

|Glimpses of Reality |

Stilgar Ben Fifrawi x OC Fem

WC: 1153

The sound of children’s laughter filled the Atreides Castle, the future heir and the young apprentice of his mother were playing together as the elders discussed the next and most favorable moves for House Atreides.

“Did you find it?” Paul asked as she was looking around for the butterfly they had been chasing. Mileena shook her head “I believe it left to the gardens. We can try to search in there” Paul nodded and the two of them got back to their initial task of catching the butterfly.

Jessica Atreides was looking at them playing from the balcony of the Duke’s office. She was doubting between ending their game as the girl needed to keep her Bene Gesserit training or let them play as her son looked happy at the moment. She chose the second one, she would always choose Paul’s happiness.

“Is it not time for Paul to train his sword skills and Mileena to continue training with you?” The Duke asked as he joined his partner outside of his office. Jessica stumbled a little bit “I thought you were still inside discussing whatever matters those old men bring to you” Leto laughed at her response. “We finished early as expected. I was hoping to attend Paul’s training but I think he’s quite busy right now” The Duke nodded his head to point at the two kids that were jumping in order to catch the butterfly that was flying above their heads.

Jessica laughed and continued observing the two children. When she accepted to train Mileena Almad, she merely did it as the Reverend Mother asked her to do it, and a Bene Gesserit would never deny any petition from her. However, it seems that this was the right choice as the girl immediately connected with her son. She was his first friend from his age; she would not remind him of the duties he has as the Duke’s son like most people do, she was a breath of fresh air to the pressure her son felt.

“Are you still against the arrangement between Mileena and Paul?” He asked as he could not find a reason to explain the negativity from Jessica to this arrangement. “They get along together. When they are older, they will make a happy marriage” Jessica denied with her head “That’s where you are wrong. They will fall in love but not with each other. They will never see each other as their lover” The Duke frowned when he heard that “How would you know that? They live together and will continue this way for more years. It is highly possible that they eventually will look at each other with more than friendship intentions”

She sighed and moved inside to the door of the office to get Mileena to continue her training “I can not speak about Paul as he does not talk to me about certain matters. However, Mileena is always talking to me about the dreams she has. There is a man in her future and it is not Paul” She answered as she closed the door of the office and headed to the garden to get Mileena and Paul to do their duties.

Even if she would show support for this arrangement, she knew the Reverent Mother would not approve it. They held another plan for Mileena and Paul. Jessica Atreides can only rescue one of them from the hands of the Bene Gesserit, and once again, she would choose her son’s happiness above anything.

————————————————————

Time skip (Time period of Dune 1)

————————————————————

There she was, back to this place which has become familiar as she always found herself at it in her dreams.

The hot temperatures and the infinity sand could make any foreigner get on their knees and cry for help to get back home. However, this was not her case. This place was her home, she could feel how her body got along with the sand and became one rhythm. Mileena could not be happier. She finally found peace.

Someone approached her from behind. She already knew who it was by feeling his hands over hers and hugging her body. “You need to get back to sleep, we will leave in a few hours” She rolled her eyes slightly and let out a small laugh at the typical protective behavior from him. “I know and I also know that I can not miss this magnificent view of the sunrise” He kissed her cheek and caressed her growing belly “He might not think the same. I am pretty sure he would prefer his mother to be sleeping right now” Mileena laughed at his response “He likes the sunrises just like his mother” He smiled as he imagined the three of them together. They stayed in that posture for a few minutes until he talked again “Let’s get back inside to rest until everyone wakes up” She nodded supporting his suggestion and when she was about to turn around and look at the man who would always caress her in every dream, she woke up.

She let out a whine of frustration as once again, she could not see the face of the man who was always with her. Mileena tried to get back to rest but it was impossible. She needs an answer to who this man is, the man whom she has always been dreaming about. She decided to get out of her bed as her thoughts filled her mind and she needed a glass of water.

The last person Mileena would like to face on her way to the kitchens in the middle of the night was Jessica Atreides “You are not supposed to be wandering the hallways at this hour. It is dangerous” Mileena stopped in her tracks and turned around to look at her “Castle Atreides has great security. Besides, any fool would dare to attack me taking into account who was my master” The older Bene Gesserit let out a small laugh and nodded at her response “That is correct, it stills intrigued what are you doing awake at this hour? Another dream perhaps?” Mileena denied it with her head “I was reading some books Paul got me yesterday about Arrakis and the Fremen. I lost track of time and I decided to get a glass of water before going to bed”

Jessica knew she was lying. She knew the girl did not want to talk about her dreams anymore, this started when Mileena got older and realized the context in which she is. She needed answers to her questions and nobody would give them to her. She wished to know who her mother was, and why she is always dreaming about that place and that man. The Bene Gesserit preferred to keep these answers away from her as they could be a trouble to the plans they have for her. “I supposed I would not interfere in your way. It is good you are learning about the Fremen and Arrakis. We will be there in a few days and we need to be prepared. You know you can tell me anything, Mileena. I am here for you” The girl thanked her and continued on her way.

She hoped she could believe her as she did when she was younger, things would be easier for her.

Omg this is the first fic I’ever written and it's not even on my first language😭I hope you like it and if you don’t bye bye 🤫🧏🏽‍♀️

[sandwormrp]

Leto Atreides x Thera Ecaz (OC) (487 words)

A/N: This was a starter created for the lovely @therapardalis. You can read the rest of our story here. Enjoy!

There’d come a day, as Leto understood well, that he’d need to marry and strengthen Caladan’s political future. Something that was ingrained into him by his late father. As many flaws as the man had, there were a lot of things he’d done right. Leto’s mother being one of them. Helena had been a force to be reckoned with. Leto himself had come close to that too. His alliance with House Ecaz was founded on a political marriage, then later solidifed by the fall of House Moritani once the wedding dissolved into a bloodbath. Maybe that was why he’d been avoiding another. Thinking about it now felt more like reopening a wound and pouring salt into it. He dared not venture too far into the depths of those waters.

He didn’t need to wonder why the thought of it was coming back to haunt him on this day. Thera of House Ecaz would soon be before him for a meeting he’d arranged. She’d become an invaluable part of his staff on Caladan. Much to the dismay of her father. His regular correspondence with the Duke insinuated as much. He didn’t understand why she needed to be in the place where her sister was slain, but Leto could understand it, on some level. His son had died that day too. Being anywhere else made him feel like he was moving further away from his son. Time already did that, and occasionally his obligations too.

Pushing to stand from the seat of his desk when she entered. His adviser also stood to nod her way, murmuring his final word of warning in the earshot of Leto before departing. Not all agreed with the Duke’s choices, but they wouldn’t be at the helm should the boat begin to sink. He took on board their advice. He still needed to do this.

“It’s a pleasure as always to see you, my Lady. We have much to discuss. Please,” he gestured to the open seat the adviser left behind. Lowering himself into his own with a neat fold of his attire. The gold of the eagle branding his cuff glimmered under the light of the window to his left. He’d used his meeting room for the encounter, though had no expectation of anyone disturbing them past the house staff. One approached the table to serve drinks before too parting. Guards at the doors were under strict orders to keep non-emergencies out.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard of the latest attack on our shipments? What are your thoughts?”

He leaned back in his seat to let her take the floor, so to speak. While he had no need to be asking for her opinion on the matter, he found himself valuing it all the same. An easy conversation starter with substance over something more frivolous like the upcoming celebrations. Something he was reluctant to bring up immediately. Dancing around the question perhaps?

[of-house-atreides]

Under the Veil | Part 12

Summary: Every good thing comes to an end...

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides x OFC x Lady Jessica

Words: 6587

A/N: Please note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there.

This is the last chapter. There will be an epilogue then perhaps some one shots to add to the story, please do let me know if you have some ideas for Leto, Jessica and Sierra, I can't guarantee I'll write them, but they could be helpful to me!

I hope you'll like this, and please do leave feedback, I really wanna know what you think! Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI - smut, piv, oral sex, cum play I guess?

Masterlist

Tags: @karolajnx0yep @partypoison00 @beepboopyoda @cute-baby-ducks @theliterarybeldam @slytherisstuff

A light breeze was blowing the curtains inward, carrying with it the refreshing air of the sea. Sierra could hear the waves splashing against the rocks of the cliff, the wind whistling outside, the ships flying in and out of the docks, as she was lying in Jessica’s bed, studying her environment. Almost four weeks had gone by since the wedding, and it was only then, as she was settled between her husband and his concubine, that she finally felt at home. Only then was she able to truly hear the waves and smell the sea. Only then did she feel curious about her new planet, an adventurous spirit calling her to explore the beautiful green hills under the cold grey sky of Caladan. She wanted to know her home, to find more reasons to love it, as it would find more reasons to love her.

Jessica had propped herself up on her elbow and was hovering over her with a loving smile as she ran her fingers across her cheek. Leto refused to let go of her as he lied on his side, an arm wrapped around her waist, his chin resting on the top of her head. Sierra just needed time to get herself back together after her recent breakdown. She needed time to recharge before dinner. Before seeing her father again. She just lied there, her empty eyes moving slowly across the room as she let Jessica caress her hair and Leto hold her against him. She knew they didn’t have much time as the clock was going to ring seven any time now.

Alys, Jessica’s housekeeper, reluctantly came to remind them of the time. Edward had told Nesta where their mistress was, and she was anxious to get her ready in time for dinner. Jessica thanked and dismissed her as she sat up on the mattress and, once they were alone again, turned back to Sierra and ran her knuckles softly across her cheek to give her the strength to go on.

“I will be with you, always,” Leto whispered before he finally let her go.

Sierra took a deep breath, cleansing herself from any remaining doubt and fear, filling her lungs with Caladan’s air, summoning the courage to start anew. She had to make her husband proud. She would make her husband proud.

She could feel their eyes on her as she sat up. She wiped dried tears from her cheeks and concealed a yawn with a hand. She heard Leto chuckle.

“It’s all over, sweet girl. Everything is going according to your father’s plan. It will all be okay.”

He cupped her chin in his hand and leaned over to press a kiss against her temple.

“They agreed to denounce the Harkonnens?” Jessica asked.

“They couldn’t refute the evidence. And Dr. Yueh’s testimony is damaging. They will be calling for the Emperor to sanction them. Your father is very pleased. He’s already been asked about hiring talents from Valentia.”

“What about you? Will you be hiring talents from Valentia?” Jessica teased.

“I think I will,” he nodded. “I need a new doctor.”

***

The dining room had grown small as Castle Caladan welcomed more guests, and dinner had to be served at the banquet hall, where decorations for the ball that was to be held on the next evening had already started to appear. The buffet tables had been set against the walls, adorning champagne glasses and other silverware. The stage for the musicians had been built and was covered in entangled wires, half of which had invaded the dance floor. Some of the tables had been put together to form a rectangle and the guests were seated quite randomly. All eyes were on Lord Valen as he held the answers to their burning questions. Most of the Great Houses knew they were being manipulated so Valentia could finally get that esteemed place in the galaxy, but they were smart enough to know what to do when they were being used by someone: use them right back.

Valentia was expending. But Abel Valen was an intelligent man. He knew the Great Houses wouldn’t allow him to own them and their power, so he had to find a way to lease Valentia’s power to them without putting their sovereignty in peril. If Valens were to swear an oath to be loyal to the Houses they were offering their services to, then they would keep face. But still, Valens would always serve Valentia first. So, there was another step that needed to be taken. Valentia needed to expend.

More weddings. More girls sent away from their home to join another they might not be welcomed in. To marry a man who will never love them or treat them well. And although they may not have married for love on Valentia, they would have been home still, they would have been surrounded by friends and family still. Sierra listened as her father promised more alliances through marriages. Smart, educated, gifted Valen girls would be ripped from their family to join another that would use and parade them around. Because Valentia was selling rare jewels, and the universe expected them to shine.

Soon, every Great House will be employing weathermen, oracles, element masters and other talents. Soon, most Great Houses would have gifted descendants of their own. Soon, House Valen would be recognized as a power to respect. Valentia’s gifts wouldn’t be feared but sought out. They wouldn’t be strange but a part of their everyday life. Soon, Valentia would own the galaxy.

She tried to stay silent, to keep her outrage to herself, her tears to herself, her feelings to herself. She thought about all the dreams and hopes that would come to an end just like hers had. But it wasn’t her place to say anything, and nothing she could say would stop her father’s great design. It would only anger him and bring shame on her family. There was nothing anyone could do to stop Valentia from expending.

It made Sierra sick.

She had her head in the toilet bowl, throwing up her dinner, when Jessica joined her in her bathroom. She kneeled near her without a word and brought Sierra’s hair back as she emptied her stomach. She shushed and soothed her as she held her, until Leto collected her from the floor, and put her to bed.

***

Abel Valen was jubilating. Members of the Great Houses were questioning him and his people, his talents, watching with awe the spectacle they were happily showing them. Oracles had turned into personal gossips for ladies and cunning strategists for their lords. Telepaths were embarrassing easy targets and empowering proud nobles. Fire masters were giving a hell of a show as water masters built ice sculptures of impressionable ladies.

It was a ball for the ages.

The music had become background noise, and nobody paid any mind to the skilled and talented musicians as Valens showed off their gifts. Gasps and applause had replaced the usual laughing and dancing customary to balls. Sierra was sorry Jessica was missing it, when she wasn’t too busy sending glares to Sophie who was clinging to her brother like a leech.

“You really don’t like her,” Leto commented as he pressed a kiss on the line between her forehead and her hair.

They had been dancing for a while now. Her heels tapped on the parquet and the skirt of her beautiful green dress swiped the floor as they slowly swirled around. And although they hadn’t eaten much of the delicious food Jessica had helped Sierra choose, they refused to let go of each other, even for just a moment.

“She’s a gold-digging sangsue.”

“What’s that?”

“A warm that sucks your blood,” she told him, making him laugh.

“Is she really that bad?”

“She’ll leave my brother as soon as one of those lords proposes to her.”

“She seems sincere.”

“She’ll love anyone with a title.”

“Your brother seems happy enough.”

“Until the day she breaks his heart.”

“What about her?” he asked as he twirled around to show her the girl Paul was talking to in the corner of the room. She was a blonde fifteen-year-old, as timid as her cheeks were red. She was wearing her pale pink dress with modesty and was listening to Paul with seemingly great interest.

“Oh, that’s Sisi. She’s nice.”

“Who’s she?”

“She’s the daughter of my father’s prime minister. I’m surprised she’s talking to anyone at all. She’s very shy.”

“They seem to get along well,” he said as he saw his son make the girl giggle and blush.

“Her father will be pleased.”

“You think it’s a set up?”

“I think I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he encouraged her. Although he does love her very much. She wouldn’t be talking to him if she didn’t want to.”

“What are her gifts?”

“She’s a wind master.”

“Ah. Aren’t they the strongest of the element masters?”

Sierra laughed. “Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you,” he said as he kissed her nose, making her giggle.

“Fire masters are the most dangerous in my opinion. But wind masters make mean hurricanes.”

“I think I’d like to see that, at least once.”

“Well, that can be arranged, I’m sure.”

A sudden movement from the crowd accompanied by gasps startled Leto, who instinctively tightened his hold on Sierra, bringing her closer against his chest, as they turned around. She huffed a laugh as she brought a reassuring hand on his arm.

“It’s okay. It’s not real fire,” she told him as he couldn’t look away from the fire dragon flying above their heads. “It’s just an illusion.”

“It looks…”

“I know. But trust me. We’d all be burning right now if it were real fire.”

“It’s… an impressive trick.”

“Illusionists are very popular at parties.”

“Your father said they were good on the battlefield as well.”

“Of course.”

“Have you ever seen them at work?”

“Not on a real battlefield… but I’ve seen what they can do.”

“I think I’d like to see that as well.”

“Mmh. Maybe not.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Illusions… aren’t good for the minds… especially the ones used at war.”

“Are they very horrible?”

“They need to be. To scare your enemy.”

“Mmh.”

“What?”

“It’s something Jessica said once. Valentia can either be a dream. Or a nightmare.”

“When did she say that?”

“When I asked her if I should marry you.”

“Oh…. Was that… helpful?”

Leto chuckled humorlessly. “No.”

“Did you think you’d regret it?”

“What? Marrying you?”

“Not marrying her.”

He pondered for a moment. He looked down at her but she was avoiding his gaze, he could see she was embarrassed, although she didn’t need to be, but what broke his heart the most was the sadness in her yes. He sighed.

“Did you not believe me yesterday?”

“About what?” she frowned.

“When I told you I loved you.”

She winced. “I… I don’t think you lied.”

“But you don’t believe me…”

She felt dizzy as her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She didn’t want to talk about it. It made her eyes teary. She looked away.

“Sierra… I…”

“Please, don’t say it again,” she begged in a trembling murmur as a lump formed in her throat.

He froze as she tried to smile, but looked down as she failed. She moved her hands on his back and rested her head against his chest, holding him in a tight embrace.

“I meant it,” he whispered. “I do.”

“You do not have to keep the promise you made me, you know. Your kindness is enough.”

“What promise, my love?”

“On our wedding day… you said you would never love me like you love her… but you said you’d try. You don’t have to try.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t have to try anymore. You are mine as I am yours. It is so easy to love you, my love. And I hope one day you can love me as easily… as simply… as fully.”

“You think I do not love you?” she asked as she finally looked up. “How can I not love you?”

He considered her words for an instant, as they had taken him by surprise and he needed time to fully understand their meaning, as if he didn’t believe her either.

“You have been so kind. You are so kind,” she told him as if she didn’t deserve his kindness or his affection. “And Jessica… has been…” she stopped as her voice failed her and tears fell down her cheeks. “Why are you so kind?”

She broke down in tears but tried to conceal it. He swirled around so no one could see her distress, but all the guests were too distracted by the magic show to notice.

“Oh, sweet girl, I know you didn’t expect kindness when you were brought here. I don’t know what your father did or said to you to make you believe you don’t deserve to be loved, but you do. And you are. You thought I would hate you, that Jessica would hate you… but we don’t, we never have and we never will.”

“I ruined everything,” she sobbed.

“You ruined nothing. Nothing at all.”

“You were happy before.”

“And we are happier now. We want you to be happy too. We want to make you happy as you make us happy.”

“I make you happy?”

“Don’t we make you happy?”

She nodded as she sniffed. “Yes.”

“There you go sweet girl,” he said as he placed his hands on either side of her face and wiped her tears away with his thumbs. “Please believe my affection is sincere. It hurts me to know you doubt my love for you. It is so strong. And it gets stronger every day.”

She smiled as she put her hands above his and nodded. “Mine too.”

He grinned and she thought her heart would burst out of joy. He leaned to press a long kiss on her lips and she put her hands on his cheeks, pulling him towards her.

“You know,” he said as he let her breathe, “Jessica loves you too. And she will grow to love you as I do. You are a part of us now. You are home.”

And as she listened to his final words, her tears vanished with her doubts, and she allowed her heart to feel fully for him as he wasn’t afraid to feel fully for her. And she didn’t feel that broken piece of her finally fall back into place as a sigh of relief escaped her lips.

***

Sierra was once again emptying the content of her stomach as she woke up feeling painfully nauseous again. Jessica was there, as she always was, holding her hair back so they wouldn’t get in the way.

“I thought you said you didn’t eat anything.”

“I didn’t…”

“Love, perhaps you should see a healer,” Jessica suggested as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.

“It’s fine. I’m feeling better already.”

“You say that every night,” Leto disapproved, as he was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest.

“And I get better every night.”

They didn’t insist, although their worry remained, but Sierra was a healer, and for sure she knew what she was talking about. For sure, she would get better. But when they returned to their bed and Sierra laid her head on Leto’s bare chest, he thought her skin felt a little warm.

Days past, and Sierra’s mysterious illness only got worse, as Caladan bade farewell to its guests. Her father conducted his business with the Great Houses from the library, that Leto had offered to turn into a temporary office. All they had to do now was wait for the Emperor’s decisions on how to sanction House Harkonnen, and his reaction to Abel’s proposition.

Sierra stayed in her chambers, feeling too unwell to leave her bed. She assured Leto she just needed some rest, and he left her with Jessica as he had his duties to take care of, although his wife remained constantly on his mind.

Sierra was lying in her bed, curled up around herself, shivering under several layers of bed covers. Jessica was sitting by her side, adjusting the pillows under her head.

“You’re warm,” the concubine said as she pressed the back of her hand against Sierra’s forehead. “You have a fever.”

“I’m so cold... I don’t feel well,” she finally confessed.

“I thought you didn’t get sick?”

“I don’t. I didn’t... I don’t know what’s happening. I’m so cold..."

“Are you sure you don’t want to see a healer?” she asked, again, as she had every day since she had gotten sick.

“I am a healer.”

“But you’re not healing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

But she wasn’t.

She was sobbing from pain when Leto returned to her chambers around noon, and he ordered Nesta and Edward to fetch a healer in a hurry. He remained by her side as they waited. She was leaning back against the bed frame, and he was sitting at the edge of the bed, holding her small cold hand in his large palm and cupping her cheek with the other. She leaned into his touch as she enjoyed the warmth of his skin on her face.

“I’m sure you have better things to do,” she told him with a weak smile.

“You’re sick. My place is here, with you.”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb as he leaned his forehead against hers. Her skin had turned icy, it almost burned him, and he was reminded of the time when she had died in his arms and the ice had come to cover her body, but it seemed to hurt her now, when it had saved her life then. It worried him just as much.

“Ando.”

Sierra sighed as she saw the middle-aged woman appear from behind the curtains, led by Nesta.

“Ando,” she nodded, welcoming her inside her private rooms.

“Leave us,” she instructed with a thick accent, as she gestured for Leto and Jessica to exit the room.

Leto raised an eyebrow as he wasn’t used to getting orders.

“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “I’ll be fine.”

He gave her an uncertain look, but she insisted, and he reluctantly agreed to go.

“I’ll be right outside,” he said before placing a kiss on her forehead.

Jessica brought a hand to Sierra’s face and gently squeezed her cheek as she gave her a smile that she returned before following Leto out of the bedroom and into the living room, allowing the healer the start her work.

“Ando, Caro.”

“Hello, your Grace,” Caro said with a bow of the head as she put her suitcase at the end of the bed. It was a heavy wooden bag, resembling Sierra’s potion box. “What seems to be the problem?” she continued in her own language.

“... cold,” Sierra stuttered. “And my belly hurts.”

Caro nodded as she came to sit where Leto had been a few seconds prior. She raised her hands, silently asking Sierra if she could touch her. Sierra nodded. Caro hummed as her fingers met her icy skin.

“It seems your body is confused,” she said. “It’s hurting you instead of healing you.”

“Why?”

“It’s healing something else,” she answered as she brought a hand on Sierra’s abdomen.

“Ouch!”

“What happened here? It’s damaged.”

“It’s been painful since I was poisoned. My husband didn’t know what to do and gave me too much potion.”

“What poison? What potion?” she asked, and Sierra explained, not without difficulty, as she was trembling from the cold, and her headache was growing more painful.

“I see...”

Sierra whined as Caro pressed her hands against her abdomen, but that didn’t make her stop.

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.”

“Why won’t I heal?”

“The regenerating ice did its job. It cleansed your body from the poison and the overdose of potion. But you awoke too soon, and there’s a part of you that needed more time. The ice is being a little... overprotective.”

“How long will I remain sick?”

An amused smile appeared on Caro’s face.

“Oh, child. You’re not sick.”

***

Jessica was sitting on one of the sofas, watching Leto pace back and forth in Sierra’s living room. He almost went back in the bedroom when he heard Sierra cry out in pain. She had to stop him, hold him, keep him in place.

“She’ll be just fine,” she promised him as she brushed a strand of curls from his forehead.

“This isn’t normal for her. She said she never got sick before.”

“There’s a first time for everything. It’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

“You don’t know that. You’re as worried as I am.”

Jessica sighed as she looked away. “She was… so cold.”

Leto let out a miserable groan as he sat on a sofa, running his hands across his face, only to jump back up on his feet as Caro emerged from the bedroom.

“How is she?”

Caro eyed him funnily, as if his worry was amusing to her.

“She’s fine. I fixed the… issue.”

“What issue?”

“She’ll have to tell you,” she told him before she turned to Jessica. “She’s asking for you.”

“For me?” Jessica raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, you. Go on,” Caro gestured for her to hurry, as if she was wasting her time.

Jessica turned to Leto who gave her a confused and worried look. He wanted to see her. Why didn’t she want to see him?

The concubine found Sierra looking out the window from her bed, seemingly lost deep in her thoughts. She slowly made her way to her and Sierra swallowed thickly as Jessica came to sit by her side. She looked anxious. She looked apologetic.

“Everything okay, love?”

Sierra looked down at her hands, opening and closing her mouth as if she was trying to find the words. She didn’t. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Jessica and pulled her into a very tight hug.

“Please, don’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?” she wondered as she moved back so she could see her face. She was happy to feel her temperature had returned to normal.

“I…”

“What happened, love?”

“I…”

She could see in her eyes so much was happening in her mind as she tried to find the words, maybe to make sense of it all herself.

“Tell me, I promise I won’t be mad. There’s nothing you could possibly do to make me mad at you,” she gave her a reassuring smile.

“Jessica…” she breathed. “I…”

Sierra shook her head as she looked down at her hands. She was pulling nervously on her fingers. Jessica stopped her as she took her hands in hers and gave a gentle squeeze.

“What is it, sweetling?”

A shaky breath escaped her as she tried to find the courage to speak up. She took a deep breath as she stared Jessica right in the eyes and said the words like she was ripping off a bandage. Jessica’s eyes grew big and Sierra thought she was mad at first, until a grin appeared on her face.

“Oh, Sierra. That’s great news!”

“You… you think so?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”

“I… I don’t know… I… we haven’t talked about it and… Leto and… with Paul…”

“Oh, love. Leto will be over the moon,” she assured her as she cupped her cheek with her hand.

“He… he will?”

Jessica breathed out a laugh before she leaned her forehead against hers.

“Are you happy?” she whispered.

“I… if Leto’s happy…”

“He will be. I am. Are you?”

“He’ll be happy?”

“He will be full of joy. I know it.”

Sierra released a shaky breath as she nodded. “It’s so soon…”

“It is,” Jessica realized. “How far along are you?”

“About five weeks…”

“That’s…”

“My wedding night.”

Jessica smiled. “Oh, love. I’m so happy for you.”

Sierra grinned as a laugh escaped her. “Thank you.”

“Shall we go tell him?”

“Are you… will you…”

“I’ll be right there with you. But he’ll want to hear it from you.”

Sierra hesitated, just for a second, just until she gathered her courage and nodded. Jessica pulled her out of bed, and quickly fixed her hair and nightgown before opening the curtains. They found Leto standing anxiously in the living room, hands behind his back, waiting to be let in. He seemed relieved to see her standing on her feet, and she didn’t look as pale as before.

“Everything okay?” he asked as he hurried towards his wife.

Sierra couldn’t help but stare at him with big eyes as if he was a wild animal she would scare away with too loud a movement. She looked down at her hands and started pulling on her fingers again.

“Sierra,” Jessica called her name softly and gave her an encouraging smile.

“What is it?”

Sierra looked back at her husband, forgetting to breathe for a second as she searched for the courage to say the words. She was anxious about his reaction. Although she knew she shouldn’t be, she trusted Jessica. But she couldn’t stop fear from invading her heart.

“Leto, I, um…” she started but then stopped, her nervousness holding her back.

“What is it, my love?” he urged her to put his agony to rest.

“I… I have… um… there’s something I need to tell you…”

“Yes,” he said. “Tell me, what is it? Are you okay?”

She could see the concern in his eyes and felt bad for worrying him so. He took her face in his hands and caressed her soft skin with his thumbs, trying to read in her eyes the secrets she was keeping.

“Leto,” she breathed.

“Yes, my love?”

She wrapped her fingers gently around his wrists as she searched for the courage to say the words. She didn’t know how to tell him. She could blurt it out or whisper it low. She wanted to say it with a smile, but she was too nervous for that. She looked deep into his eyes, deeper than ever, as she built up the courage to tell him. To make him even happier.

“I’m pregnant.”

There was no fear in her voice, no concern on her face, she had said the words, had spoken the facts, had told him the news, and now it was his turn to tell her. He didn’t react right away. He frowned, for a second, tilted his head to the side, almost asked her to repeat because he wasn’t sure if he had heard her right. It was the last thing he expected to hear. But then he understood. Then he realized. Then the words moved into place and made sense.

She saw the confusion on his face, then, slowly, gradually, the wonder, the realization, the shock. Like he had been struck by lightning. He faltered as he tried to take a step forward, his grip tightening on her face, but he didn’t hurt her, he just held her, his eyes moving across her face looking for something, for what, he didn’t know, maybe just the confirmation, the certainty that he had heard her right.

“Pregnant?” he asked, demanding her to repeat, to give him the answer, to tell him he had heard her right, to tell him he was going to be a father again.

She nodded as she bit her lower lip. “Yes.”

He breathed out a laugh as he launched towards her. He lifted her off her feet and brought her into his arms. She gasped at the sudden movement but wrapped her arms around his neck as he placed a hand behind her head.

“My love,” he murmured as he placed a kiss in the crook of her neck. “My wife.”

Sierra smiled as she tightened the embrace and buried her nose in his hair.

“Are you happy?” she whispered in his ear and she felt him smile against her skin.

“Oh, Sierra. I couldn’t be happier.”

***

Sierra covered her ears as the fireworks popped above her head. She laughed as everyone did as the illusionists worked with the element masters to present a show Caladan would remember. They were celebrating. With smiles and laughs, and food and drinks. Drinks that Sierra wasn’t allowed to touch. Nobody knew about the pregnancy. It was too early. And she wanted to enjoy it with her family. Only four people knew about it, and she didn’t want anyone else to know. They didn’t get to know. Because they didn’t love her. Because they weren’t family. Not even Jason knew. Because he’d tell Sophie. And Sophie would tell her father. And he was the last person she wanted to know. She didn’t want him anywhere near her child.

“To House Valen!” Leto raised his glass.

The entire party cheered and clapped. Even Gurney. Even Gurney raised his glass. Even Gurney smiled.

Caladan was free. Caladan was safe. They weren’t leaving their home. They weren’t going anywhere.

Abel Valen’s plan had worked to perfection, and all his goals had been reached. He had reached for the sky and collected all the stars. He wanted a name, he got one. He wanted prestige, he got it. He wanted legitimacy, he got it. He wanted power, he got it. He wanted spice, he wanted Arrakis, he got it. He got it all. He wanted the future to remember him, it will.

He barely acknowledged his daughter as he was a guest in her home. He had always favored his son. Jason now had more to give, as there was nothing more she could give him. He was the future of House Valen. She was the future of House Atreides. And although that thought used to pain her to her core, now it only brought her immense joy.

As he celebrated his victory, Abel didn’t pay any mind to the Bene Gesserit sister who had joined the party, on the order of the Duchess. Jessica could handle the stares and the grimaces of disgusts from the Valen guests. She could mock them or ignore them, either would leave her absolutely intact. She kept an eye on her son, as he was in what seemed a very deep conversation with Sisi. She wondered what remained to be said, as they had been inseparable for days. But Sisi seemed fascinated. Either by his words, or his lips, Jessica couldn’t tell, not from where she was standing near Sierra and Leto.

“Are you having fun?” Sierra asked.

“Your people are impressive,” she nodded as she watched rainbows detonate in the Caladanian sky. “They will take possession of Arrakis in no time.”

“I’m sure they already have,” Leto scoffed.

Indeed, he had. Abel had already sent an army of settlers to tame the desert, at first as support for Caladan’s own army, but now they were helping them pack up to go home.

The party carried on all night long, Caladan’s providential relief mixing with Valentia’s flamboyant pride. And when the sun appeared on the horizon and everyone returned to their chambers, the clear blue sky of dawn glowed with the iridescent sparks of Valentia’s victory

***

Sierra was lying on the silken sheets of Leto’s bed, her head resting in Jessica’s lap as she massaged her temples while her fingers were caressing her husband’s hair as he planted kisses on her growing belly. A moan escaped her as Jessica relieved her body of any soreness and aching the pregnancy had brought along. She wasn’t showing much yet, she was only three months along, but the morning sickness and the headaches weren’t exactly pleasant. It had become a ritual for them to soothe her before bed, so she could spend a good night of sleep, and maybe have a chance of spending a pain free day.

She groaned as Jessica triggered a deep nerve and a smirk creeped on the concubine face.

“Look what I found.”

“You like that, don’t you?” Leto whispered as he leaned forward to press a kiss on his wife’s lips. “You want Jessica to make you feel good?”

“Mmh-mmh.”

She felt Leto smile against her mouth before he kissed her cheek, then her chin, then started nibbling at her neck. Jessica went deep within her pleasure center and a sigh escaped her as an ache grew at her center. She desperately wanted Leto to touch her, but she knew he wouldn’t, he liked to let Jessica make her come with only her fingers. It made her wet enough for him to slip inside her afterwards. She hiccupped as a surprise orgasm traveled through her body and begged Jessica not to stop as she felt it fade away.

“Oh, please, do it again.”

“Yes, do it again,” Leto agreed as he kneeled on the mattress, trapping his wife’s body between his thighs.

He brought her nightgown up and ripped her underwear from her, which made her roll her eyes. He chuckled. He looked down at her middle and licked his lips as he saw how wet and ready for him she was. He pulled down his pants and settled between her legs. She bit her lips as she felt the tip of his length against her sex. A deep groan that sent chills down his spine escaped her as he entered her.

“You feel so good, sweet girl. So fucking good,” he cursed as he thrusted into her.

She was too out of it to really react to it, between her husband and his concubine’s hands, all she could do was take it, and enjoy it. She hiccupped and sobbed and moaned and groaned and all the little noises she made only made Leto hungrier for her. He pushed the nightgown higher to reveal her chest, and she gasped as he grabbed her breast in his large palm. She covered his hand with hers as she brought her other hand on Jessica’s. She looked up at him as she bit her lips and implored him with her eyes, and he was more than happy to give her what she wanted. He looked at Jessica and gave her a nod.

“Je-Jessica,” she breathed as the pleasure center of her brain lit up.

That was Leto’s cue. He thrusted deeper into her as he brought his thumb over her clit and started rubbing it gently. She groaned as her back arched and Jessica tightened her hold on her head as Sierra saw stars explode before her eyes. She clenched around him and he knew he was close, and it took great strength for him to pull back. It was even harder as she whined and pouted at the loss of him. He moved his thumb faster to make up for it, as he stroked his length with his other hand. They came together as she squirted on his thighs, something she had only started doing ever since she got pregnant, and he came over her belly, as he refused to come inside her as long as his child resided there.

She felt the hot sticky substance on her skin and licked her lips as she saw it cover her abdomen. Jessica moved from under her, carefully resting her head on the pillows before placing a loving kiss on her lips.

“You want some?” she whispered and Sierra nodded desperately.

Jessica smiled before she made her way to Leto, whom she kissed deeply before seizing his member in her hand then bent over to put it into her mouth. He groaned as she licked him clean, tasting both him and Sierra on his skin. She then moved back towards Sierra and pressed her lips on hers. She immediately opened her mouth, eager to receive what Jessica had brought her. She moaned as she tasted her husband and herself on Jessica’s tongue. Leto grew hard once more as he watched Jessica lick Sierra’s belly and feed her with his semen, until there was none left.

“Leto,” Sierra whined.

“You want more, my sweet girl?” he asked, knowing she had grown a taste for him in the past month.

“Mmh-mmh,” she nodded.

He smirked as he moved to kneel near her head and her eyes moved from him to him as he came to rest before her. She sat up and pressed a kiss on his groin and licked his skin as she looked up at him from under her eyelashes.

“You’re going to have to share,” he said and she saw Jessica sit beside her with a smile.

The concubine ran her tongue across his length before she wrapped her mouth around him. He closed his eyes and moaned as he buried his fingers in her red hair. Sierra kept pressing kisses on his skin and his other hand found her head as he gently pushed her towards him. Jessica groaned before she let him go and rose onto her knees to kiss the duke. Sierra wrapped her tiny hand around his large length and stroked him once, twice, before she put him into her mouth. He was too big for her, she couldn’t take him all the way like Jessica could, and she wouldn’t make the mistake of trying to. Another hand found her face as Jessica returned to where she was positioned and kissed her cheek. She whispered encouragements and advice and helped her take her husband deeper into her mouth, so deep he could almost reach her throat.

“That’s it, sweetling, you’re doing so good, listen to him,” she said as she looked up at Leto who was moaning in bliss.

He fisted his fingers into her hair and she knew he was close. He moaned and she moaned and Jessica watched with a smile as Sierra couldn’t keep her eyes off his face as he came into her mouth and spilled himself down her throat. He kept her right where he wanted her, where he needed her, and she could taste him, all of him, and that calmed her desire for him as it calmed her desire for her. For now.

“Happy now, sweet girl?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow and she nodded as she licked her lips.

He moved to place his large hands around her waist and he lifted her off the mattress like she weighed nothing. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against him as she knew exactly where he was taking her. She smiled at Jessica who was following in their footsteps. Jessica smiled back.

And as Sierra was leaning against Jessica’s chest in the bathtub and her skilled hands were massaging her neck, and Leto’s fingers were rubbing her sole, she smiled to herself and wondered what the next day would be like. And the day after that. And the day after that.

She was resting in their arms, with a smile, the tears of her wedding day long gone and forgotten, wondering what Caladan would offer her next, as it had already given her a husband and a child, a woman she loved and who loved her back. A family, and a future.

That night hadn’t been so different from the previous ones, but as she took Jessica’s hands in hers and rested them on her belly, and returned the smile her husband was giving her, she said the words she had never understood before, as she only now believed them. And she said the words.

“I love you.”

[sansaorgana]

DUNE MASTERLIST

BACK TO MASTERLIST

✿ NA-BARON FEYD-RAUTHA HARKONNEN

➽ “Thrown To The Wolves” — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Atreides!OC

➽ “The Gift” — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

➽ “Forbidden Fruit” [nsfw] — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Baron Vladimir Harkonnen x fem!Reader

➽ “Damaged Goods” [nsfw] — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader // Rabban/Harkonnen!OC

➽ “Quick Learners” [nsfw] — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

➽ “Still Pure” — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

➽ “Still Waters Run Deep” [nsfw] — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

➽ “Tamed” — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

➽ “The Favourite” — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

➽ “The Prophecy” — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Fremen!Reader

✿ DUKE LETO ATREIDES

➽ “The Winds of Caladan” — Duke Leto Atreides x fem!Reader » PART I » PART II

➽ Having a baby with Oscar Isaac’s characters — Duke Leto Atreides x fem!Reader